The Trouble With Partners
by Mistiec
Summary: It's a little hard to have a relationship when the other person doesn't know it exists. Now complete.
1. Part I: In Which Jim Explains

Title: The Trouble With Partners  
  
Author: Misty Flores  
  
Email: mistiec_flores@yahoo.com  
  
Teaser: It's a little hard to have a relationship when the other person doesn't know it exists.  
  
Rating: PG-13 for now,  
  
Pairing: Chis Sanchez/Jim Street  
  
Disclaimer: SWAT belongs to Sony Pictures, I'm just borrowing characters while my own hibernate.  
  
Notes: Done mostly because I'm bored to tears at work and since I can't really work on my screenplays, 'ceptin at lunch, because I can't load Final Draft software, and while I can afford to be mediocre in fan fiction - I'd rather have my full focus on my professional work.  
  
As it is- as soon as my friends find out about this - they'll kill me. I justify it only by saying: You probably will never find out. Haha!  
  
More than likely will have four parts - but no guarantees on when the parts will actually be out, because I'm going to only be doing this at work. So maybe be done in two days or two weeks. :-)  
  
--  
  
Part I - In Which Jim Explains  
  
Okay, this is not totally my fault. I mean, at first glance, it might appear that this was all completely my fault, but really, it's not. It's Chris' fault.  
  
This whole mess of a situation is Chris' fault because Chris isn't a girl. Sanchez really is, inherently, a guy.  
  
Now, I'm not gonna be one of those guys that says that women are all the same, and need to be weepy and feminine just to be considered sexy, because to be honest - weepy feminine women tend to bore the hell out of me.  
  
I like my women with a little fire, that hint of spark in their eyes that tells me there's some danger lurking underneath - something that'll make my blood boil and then travel just a little bit down south.  
  
I am a SWAT cop, and if you're a SWAT cop and you're built and not bad to look at, you're going to get laid. It's just the way it is, like God-given privilege, a reward for risking your ass day in and day out.  
  
And I'm a guy's guy. I can't help it. I grew up with brothers, and my mother was amazing, but it was clear my Dad ruled the house, and when I graduated I went into the Navy, then into the Seals, then into SWAT. With exception to the occasional butch girl and the army wife, my only real interaction with other women was at bars, at parties, and my team's families.  
  
But I'm a nice guy. I can say that - because I've been told this time and time again by chicks and dicks alike. Jim Street - your average nice guy. Sure, he's killed a couple people and sure he can beat your ass down, but he'll only do it when he has to because, unless he's pissed off or got a few beers in him, Jim Street is a nice guy.  
  
Makes me easy to pick on, but I don't really give a shit. I just beat guy's asses down and shove and grunt and do my typical manly type of shit and I'm cool.  
  
And while I do like my women with some sass and spark - it always tended to die down because, if you're a cop who runs around getting into gun fights and shooting people, they start thinking maybe you're just a little too dangerous to really commit to. The next thing you know, your little spitfire is packing and trying to leave you without even having the decency to tell you about it until you walk in the door.  
  
I never really cared much before. I'm not really into commitment - my life is SWAT, and SWAT guys understand that your only focus is SWAT. Have you ever really talked to a happily married SWAT guy? By default, Lara should have known what she was getting herself into.  
  
Then again, Lara is a girl. And eventually they all wanna settle down and have kids, and change the guy they end up with, even though it was the OTHER guy that made them fall for them in the first place.  
  
And it may seem that I'm rambling here, but I'm just trying to get you to understand that this? Wasn't all my fault. I mean you may THINK it was, but it really wasn't, because if you understand where I'm coming from, you can understand that Chris had as much to do with it as I did.  
  
I was perfectly happy in my stag lifestyle, because, that whole shit with Gamble, and then getting kicked out of SWAT, then getting back IN to Swat and then dealing with Gamble again, kinda threw any thoughts of women or commitment, or anything else out of my head.  
  
And it's the fact that Chris is a guy that got me all screwed up in the first place.  
  
See, in SWAT - you gotta depend on your partner. That's how it works, and me and Gamble - we had each others backs for five years before it all went to hell.  
  
And come to think of it, Hondo was at fault here too, because it was him that decided that me and Chris were gonna pair up. Why?  
  
"Sanchez doesn't know about your past, Street," he snapped with a crisp 'don't fuck with me' attitude, "And Deke's too big, TJ's too chauvinistic, and Boxer would rather work with anyone but you."  
  
So there it was, I had a new partner, and it was Chris Sanchez, the history making first women to be on the elite LAPD SWAT team.  
  
Not that I bitched much, after the falling out with Gamble, it was a relief to find out that Sanchez and I worked pretty damned well together. Training and working with someone that much, you start to get to know 'em, how they work, and in those first few weeks, I figured I had Chris pretty much figured out.  
  
First rule: You never act like she's a girl when she's in the uniform. You just don't. You treat her like one of the guys, without any extra favors or pushes, or she'll give you hell and one of those scowls that comes from years of dealing with macho assholes.  
  
Which of course, makes her even more macho than Deke.  
  
And that was easy enough for me. I mean, yeah, she was still a girl - she was pretty easy on the eyes when she wasn't scowling, and my first image of her was in nothing but a bra, and that was pretty much burned into my memory, but it was pretty easy to start thinkin' that Sanchez was a guy. Or at least to pretend to think that Sanchez was a guy.  
  
And on your team, you guys treat each other like brothers, you know? And you hang out with your buddies and especially your partner, because you gotta know them like the back of your hand, know what they think and how they work, because a split second decision they make can be the difference between a bullet in the wall or in your chest.  
  
I was cool - even though that damned instinct inside of me still made me pull her aside, ask her if she was okay, make sure that TJ or Boxer weren't being more than the usual assholes, even got to use the fact that she was girl to our advantage when we ran our training final.  
  
I was secure in my little 'Chris is a guy' world, until it all got blown to hell that night because she asked me if I knew how hard it was to get a baby-sitter. She smiled at me, with a raspy sexy as hell voice and a twinkle in her eye, and before I knew it, I was smiling back and Chris suddenly wasn't a guy anymore.  
  
And when a guy is thinking with his dick, all that bullshit about partners could go to hell. That night I took her to a bar, felt slightly guilty as one of the girls I ... knew... felt almost a little too familiar, and after Chris was amused about the whole thing, ran smack into Gamble.  
  
Still, Chris was a stand-up guy. Didn't take shit from Gamble, kept the insults coming as fast as I did and even was prepared to take down Gamble's dick of a friend.  
  
Despite the whole shit with Brian, it was actually kinda fun.  
  
It may have been a mistake to push at the limits a little, but I had Brian in my head, I was a little bitter about the whole partners thing, and forgetting everything else by taking Sanchez home and burying myself into her tight little body seemed like a good idea at the time.  
  
So maybe she was a little used to her partners hitting on her, because she got this look on her face, like she had heard this before, and with an amused grin answered, "Don't think just because I bought you a drink that you're gonna get laid tonight."  
  
And it was out there - in the open. The fact that I thought she was hot and a girl and the fact that, even though she was going to put up a fight, she knew it and maybe I had a chance.  
  
Flirting was fun.  
  
"So what does two drinks get me?"  
  
Again that laugh, amused and not at all offended, like she was playing a game and was cool with it.  
  
It was a game I was prepared to play, because even though I may have not gotten completely laid - there was still a chance for some one-on-one. Yeah, I know - stupid for partners to do, but hey - I was mellow from the beers, Chris was hot and available, and it was already clear - we had fun.  
  
"You want to come to my house?"  
  
Immediately - I had a flash in my brain of a bed and a naked SWAT girl with me plastered to her breasts and I stumbled. I had expected to work at this - just a little.  
  
Maybe she really WAS a guy when it came this stuff.  
  
"That was easy."  
  
Obviously she wasn't on the same wavelength, or maybe she didn't have as much to drink as I did, because she came out with, "It's my kid's birthday party tomorrow."  
  
So, obviously Chris wasn't a guy. Because a normal person wouldn't try to drag someone into bed by mentioning kids, birthdays or anything that resembled commitment.  
  
Naturally, I freaked. Naturally, she expected me to freak.  
  
I don't think she really expected me to show up, and to be honest, neither did I.  
  
But after I got over the initial shock, I have to admit, sitting at home, thinking about Chris and um... taking care of the sexual tension on my own - I had to admit, it was smart of her.  
  
She was my partner, and fucking like bunnies, as pleasurable as that might have been for one night, wasn't the most constructive thing to do.  
  
No - she was SWAT, we were buddies, and that was that. And that kid, who had only been a blip on my radar before, now was full on in my view, and I had to think about the kid, and how old she was, and how young Sanchez must have been when she had her, and it did it's damage.  
  
Sanchez was not destined to be a fuck buddy, and therefore, it was time to go back to my whole 'Chris is a guy' thing.  
  
So I showed up the next day, with books, and she looked surprised for about a second before I was pulled inside. An hour later I was doused with water, playing SWAT KIDS with a bunch of eight year olds.  
  
I had fun, I'll admit it.  
  
But SWAT is SWAT and we were called away. Hondo gave this quirky 'What the hell is THIS?' look when we showed up in the same car, but there was really nothing to tell, and after we got down to business, he forgot about it as fast as I did.  
  
Work is work, and when the shit hits the fan, it hits the fan.  
  
If figures that just as I get comfortable again, wearing the uniform, feeling like I don't have to prove shit, not to my partner, not to my team - an international terrorist and two greedy guys who used to be friends blow it all to hell - and shoot up Sanchez while they're at it.  
  
It shook her. I could see that.  
  
But my murder of Gamble stuck in my head, infested with images and engrossed with hearing the squelch that took his head off his body. Filtered in were thousands of moments that Gamble and I had, five long years where the guy was closer than a brother - six months for me to see what an asshole he really was.  
  
I shoulda talked to her- focused on her and her realization that this job could take her from her kid, but I couldn't do it. Not when Gamble's blood was on my hands, his hatred burning in my chest.  
  
"You look like shit."  
  
Her words were flat - with no preamble. Settling next to me so heavily she shook the bench, Chris grimaced a little, shifting her bandaged arm and blowing out a heavy breath.  
  
"Yeah," I responded, slightly annoyed to be pulled from my self-pity. "You, too."  
  
"Thanks." The car was silent, because what can you really talk about when TJ's dead and Brian's dead, and already they're sending you somewhere else.  
  
"Your kid's gonna be okay?"  
  
"Yeah," she answered after a minute. "Talked to her on the cell-phone a few minutes after we got the call. She's with my mom. It's cool."  
  
Her shoulder was warm against mine, and even though the last thing I wanted to do was talk, I knew what Chris was doing, liked her more for it. She was being a partner. A good one. Standing by your guy and making sure that his shit got worked through.  
  
I shoulda been doing the same for her.  
  
I didn't know what to say, though. It's part of the job - the almost dying. She knew that before she took it.  
  
"Look," she said finally, swallowing up the silence as Deke and Hondo both quietly listened to the radio up front. "I'm not gonna ask you what's wrong, or if you're okay, cause it's obvious that it's not gonna be okay and you and Brian - you were partners. That's some heavy shit."  
  
My laughter was harsh, coarse. "Yeah, well we're not partners anymore."  
  
She didn't smile. Her eyes were dark and her face was passive, she wasn't gonna be a guy for once. "Look, Street. I know I barely know you, all right? And it's not gonna do much good to tell you that it wasn't your fault, because deep down you know it - but you're the type of guy that's gonna blame yourself anyway."  
  
"I am."  
  
"Typical Drama Queen."  
  
"A Queen."  
  
"Yeah. I hate guys like you. Wallowers."  
  
And that got a smile, a small one, that made her smile back, and after a minute I nudged her, trying to be offended and failing miserably because we were both there smiling at each other like idiots.  
  
A moment of silence, a glance at her, and suddenly the blood on my hands didn't matter that much anymore.  
  
"He's not my partner anymore," I said finally. "That's you."  
  
"Yeah... fat lot of good I'm gonna be with this hole in my shoulder," she muttered, shrugging with a grimace.  
  
"You're gonna be okay, though," I said softly.  
  
"Yeah. So're you."  
  
Another glance, another smile, and it was over. She squeezed my thigh and smoothed a hand over my cheek, unexpectedly gentle.  
  
"We did good today, didn't we?"  
  
A sincere grin pulled at my lips. "Yeah, we did."  
  
And that was it.  
  
Chris was Chris, my partner, part of the team, one of the guys.  
  
With a smile, a touch and a glance, she also inadvertently became the recipient of a genuine crush.  
  
Innocent, bashful, never intended to be acted on.  
  
And also the reason that everything went to hell.  
  
End Part I  
  
Coming soon: Part II - In which Jim Gets Scared 


	2. Part II: In Which Jim Gets Scared

I'm thinking of pushing this to R because of the language, so be warned...  
  
Part II: In Which Jim Gets Scared  
  
Okay, so maybe back then I didn't realize that it was a crush.  
  
I mean, really, do guys get crushes? You either want to fuck somebody or you don't. That's how guys think - and even with girls you don't want to fuck, there's always the question of whether or not you could, and yes, it makes us all sound like dicks, but it's seriously how we think.  
  
At any rate, all I had really worked through then was that Chris was a girl that I wouldn't have minded having a couple drinks with in the date capacity, but chances are that it would never happen because Chris was Chris and Chris was a guy.  
  
Not to mention, I had met the kid. I liked the kid. I wasn't going to screw up my friendship with my partner so the kid could start thinking I was a dick, too.  
  
It was attraction, simple, direct, and dealt with accordingly.  
  
It seemed to me that I had a nice arrangement. I had a good buddy, a great partner, and finally a team that I could depend on - depended on me.  
  
And, it wasn't like the fact that I thought Chris was pretty cute distracted me from other available women either. Like I said before, if you're in SWAT, chances are you're going to get laid.  
  
And I got laid. A whole lot.  
  
After our road trip and Boxer's return, there was another team trip to the bar, and there was booze, drinking, laughing, and good-times.  
  
There was also a pretty brunette, who shot glances my way and moved her thumb around her beer bottle while massaging the glass lightly.  
  
"Subtle," Chris said, giggling as she mimicked the girl, shoving Deke in the shoulder and motioning with her beer. "Check that out."  
  
Naturally, we all did, and before long Deke was snorting and Boxer was grinning in that plastic way that reminded me he thought I was destined to marry his sister, even though at last check, Lara still wanted nothing to do with me, and because I was euphoric and a little drunk, it was funny to me, too.  
  
Chris plunked her beer down on the table, leaning forward so her breasts brushed against my arm and her hair tickled my ear and she spoke.  
  
"Play your cards right and you will get laid tonight."  
  
I blinked, coughed, and Deke smacked me once with his huge ass arms before I was able to recover with a very intelligent, "Huh?"  
  
"The chick, man!" She twisted my head, until it had nowhere to look but the cute brunette giving a handjob to her beer, and I had to admit, it was a nice sight.  
  
"Yeah, man, you better go for it, cause us married men, we all gotta live through you, you know?" Deke, drunk Deke, is not as aware of his strength, and as a result, his slaps across my back were so painful I had to get up just to keep from yelping.  
  
"You think?"  
  
"Go for it, Romeo," Chris drawled, sprawled back in this lazy wanton way, that made me want to sit right back down next to her instead of across the room with the pretty hand job girl. "Give these guys something to dream about."  
  
"Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds kinda gay," Deke said, smile off his face, somewhat worried.  
  
Even Boxer seemed to crack a smirk at that. "Go for it, Street. Let's see how big you bomb."  
  
So I did, leaving behind my team to strike up a conversation with a pretty girl who licked her lips and said all the right things with all the right innuendoes, hand on my belt and palm on my chest.  
  
It was like every bar conversation that I've ever had, and I remembered looking back to find Chris staring, waiting for me to catch her eye. On her face was that smirk that made me think she was making fun of me, amused at my antics, thought them silly and boyish.  
  
It made me feel insanely stupid.  
  
For that alone I got Mandy's number, found out she was a law student at UCLA, and made a date for the next night.  
  
"She was cute," Chris mentioned later, boots propped up on my dashboard, eyes half-closed in that way drunk girls get, thinking they're looking right at you when all you see is eyelashes.  
  
"She was," I repeated. She chuckled and buried further into my convertible, taking in a deep contented sigh as she let her eyes close completely.  
  
We had an understanding, ever since that first night, that because I was a man without obligation with no girlfriend or wife to come home to, I was therefore obligated to keep Chris out as late as possible, because God knew when she'd get a baby-sitter again. No one really knew, or if they did, they didn't care. They would drive off, and it would just be me and Chris, staring at each other until I opened my car door and she slid inside, languid and sexy and always laughing about something.  
  
I had come to think of it as our 'dates' without the sex - cause we'd do whatever the hell we wanted, just the two of us, partner time, walking by the beach, playing pool.  
  
One time we even went bowling.  
  
More than once we got ourselves into trouble, because Chris shoots her mouth off and I never back down, and for some reason our wit just amuses us entirely too much. We played our games, laughing at the guys who came onto Chris, her making fun of the girls who came after me, and it never once occurred to me to think of this as anything more than partners.  
  
I wouldn't touch her, at least consciously. Once I found myself reaching for her hand, and I stopped myself, because there was no way in hell Gamble would have held my hand, and Chris was a guy.  
  
But innocence was my undoing. Like when she couldn't figure out the proper way to shoot the eight ball into the corner pocket and I found myself pressed up behind her, arms surrounding hers, fingers shifting against her palms as her butt backed right into my groin, following my lead.  
  
Or the time we went to the driving range, and she was absolutely horrible at golf. It became less bonding time with my partner and more having a girl like Chris in my arms - like holding a panther, muscles and grace and power flowing in a tight compact little body, hair always smelling of shampoo, tight jeans and tight tanks leaving a small patch of skin that I skimmed as I reached around her to show the grip.  
  
But Chris is a guy and guys are dense, and because of that she never understood why I always held a beer can to my forehead; why I excused myself to go to the bathroom right after she bumped back against me and fell into my arms, laughing in such a way that her lips skimmed the side of my throat.  
  
But I had fun on my non-dates, because in the wee hours, after midnight and before the sun came up, that's when she would finally talk to me.  
  
Got to learn about Chris a lot that way. Learned about how she had her kid - how she was young and naïve and dating an older guy, and suddenly was alone and a statistic.  
  
"I wasn't gonna let that be me, you know?" she said, wind blowing through her hair. "I didn't plan it, but I was gonna take care of my baby."  
  
So she gave birth, graduated, and joined the police academy, because it paid well enough without college and it made her feel better about doing something. "Keeping the streets safe for my kid."  
  
I had to say, I enjoyed it, even looked forward to my dates without the sex.  
  
Never thought I'd pass up actual sex for it, though.  
  
"And smart," she continued, making me realize we were in the middle of a conversation when I had almost already forgotten. "Good body. Cute, smart - good body."  
  
I laughed, "You sure you don't want her number?"  
  
Her smile was mysterious, and the realization sunk deep into my stomach, cutting my laughter short. I had never really considered it, but... SHE had turned down sex with ME...  
  
"Wait, you're not... you know-"  
  
"Gay? Bi-sexual?" she asked, rounding out the syllables of the latter world until it sounded alien. She gave a short chuckle, staring at me through closed eyes before settling back into my bucket seats. "No. Though sometimes I wish I was. Chicks dig me. They think I'm sexy."  
  
Despite the fact that I was now battling erotic images of Chris and Mandy in consensual bliss, I had to ask, "And guys don't?"  
  
"Yeah, in the 'I want you to chain me up and treat me like a bad boy' kinda way." Her eyes were still closed, so it was somewhat amusing to see her serious expression as she gazed in my direction. "I can be a little intimidating."  
  
"Just makes it better when they finally get there."  
  
"So I'm a conquest." She didn't seem pleased by that.  
  
"You're a challenge - guys like challenges."  
  
"Pffft." Her eyes, at least, managed to open a centimeter. "They want me only to see if they can get me, and then don't have what it takes to keep me."  
  
"And what does it take to keep you," I asked, almost amused by the interview.  
  
She seemed to consider it, but awash in alcohol, she couldn't ponder too much. "Great sex," she announced.  
  
I snorted, laughter bursting from me as she nodded resolutely. "Okay, then."  
  
I guess that the sex topic reminded her of something else, because the next I knew, she said, "I heard that Mandy girl inviting you home."  
  
The laughter caught in my throat, and I shrugged, dismissing it. "I was tired."  
  
"Bullshit. Men are never tired when it comes to sex. Even if they are, they want you to get on top of them and do all the work for them." Again, just the imagery made me swerve into the other lane, and she glared once, before fumbling for her seat belt and clicking herself into security. "So what's the real reason, cowboy?"  
  
"I was tired," I insisted, "And you looked hammered-"  
  
"Wait... you gave up sex because of me?" Her eyes really were open this time, sitting up in her seat with this look on her face that for a second, kind of freaked me out.  
  
"Not really-"  
  
"You NEVER give up sex because of your partner!" The little clarity that was in her brain seemed to have died away instantly, because she continued with an over-dramatic wave, "That is our new rule."  
  
"We have rules now?"  
  
"It's our new partner rule. Never give up great sex just because you're driving me- where are we going?"  
  
The entire conversation was getting so ludicrous I really had nowhere else to go. "We're taking you home."  
  
"Pfft. I'm fine! We should go bowling."  
  
"I take you bowling like this and you'll roll yourself down the lane with your ball."  
  
"Pffft."  
  
"Stop 'pffting'."  
  
"Pendejo."  
  
The Spanish really only came with me, when she was emotional, angry or couldn't find another way to express herself. Once, when she claimed I had tripped her up in a training exercise, I had gotten a stream of it so foul even Hondo winced. When I asked him later what she said, he replied, "It loses something in the translation. But she hates you."  
  
Drunk, however, she got over it pretty quickly. "Let's go bowling tomorrow! Eliza loves to bowl."  
  
She was actually serious, and I almost agreed; the prospect of spending more time with a not drunk Chris and her daughter was not a bad idea.  
  
I shoulda known then. The old Jim Street spending an evening bowling? With a kid? Right.  
  
"Oh, fuck - I can't. I told that girl Mandy-"  
  
"Mandy! We have a date with Mandy! Oh, Mandy, well you came and you gave without asking! But I sent you away, Oh, MANDYYYY!"  
  
"What the hell are you doing?"  
  
"-Kissed me and stopped me from shaking! And I need you today, Oh Manndeeee!"  
  
She was a horrible singer. Really, really bad, blasting at the top of her lungs down the Pacific Coast highway, drunk as hell and getting louder by the second.  
  
I was laughing so hard I could hardly drive.  
  
Suddenly she stopped.  
  
"What?"  
  
Somber, she looked ready to cry. "I forgot the rest."  
  
After assurances that the world was not going to end because she forgot the lyrics to 'Mandy', she finally began to doze, cuddled into the side of my car all the way to LA.  
  
I had to shake her awake, and when I finally got her to open her eyes, the first thing she said was, "Oh fuck, I forgot my car!"  
  
"Hey, look at me." She managed that, at least, even if her gaze was slightly cross-eyed. "You didn't forget your car, It's right where we left it, and tomorrow morning, I'm going to be here an hour early and we're going to go get it. Okay?"  
  
"You left my car?!"  
  
It was pointless to argue, instead I pushed at the door, already out and ready to walk her to the door and found her standing unsteadily on the lawn, throwing a narrowed glare in my direction.  
  
"You want help getting inside?"  
  
"Go have sex with Mandy. I'll be fine."  
  
And, because it was Chris, she was, all the way to her door without falling once. I waited by the car for about five minutes while she stood by the door, staring at it blankly. "Yo, Street!"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Why the fuck isn't my door opening?"  
  
With a sigh, I finally reached in and grabbed her keys, thrown on the seat, jogging up to the door and opening it quickly. "There you go."  
  
Chris has these amazingly brown eyes, they sparkle, and when she stared at me, it was frightening, how easy it was to trail my fingers along her cheek, knock on her chin playfully.  
  
She smiled, and for the briefest second, her lips were on the side of my cheek, nearly on my mouth.  
  
"You, man, you are a GREAT PARTNER!"  
  
She stumbled inside, closed the door, and left me standing there with her keys, looking like I had been hit by a truck and feeling flattened by it too.  
  
There was nothing to do but insert her keys in her mail slit, and head back home.  
  
For reasons I couldn't explain, I called Mandy that night. Went to her apartment.  
  
Spent the night and left early.  
  
Now, I know why I did it.  
  
I was getting fucking scared.  
  
--  
  
coming soon, part III - In Which the New Guy Comes In 


	3. Part III: In Which The New Guy Comes In

To see the cover art for this fic:   
  
www.rebel-rebel.net/temp/partnerssplash.jpg  
  
Part III: In Which The New Guy Comes In   
  
Okay, so maybe there was more to my crush on Chris than a desire to sleep with her.   
  
It still didn't mean I was going to do anything about it. Because Chris was SWAT. She was a guy.   
  
There was no way in hell that no-sex-dates, drunken highway singing, and a missed kiss meant anything more to her than the fact that she had a great partner.   
  
A great partner who snuck out of Mandy's apartment at four in the morning, just to shower and be across town at six, waiting by the car with two cups from Starbucks, cool as can be as my partner squinted and stumbled out the door, looking like her old surly self.   
  
"Thank you," she managed, reaching for the coffee with a grimace.   
  
I smiled, head tilting as I inspected her. She looked really bad. And now, I do think that yes, it was kind of pathetic that I thought she looked cute because she looked horrible.   
  
Just attraction, my ass. You really are a moron, man.   
  
"Did you hurl?"   
  
"Shut up and get in the car."   
  
I laughed, ducking her punch easily, moving to the other side of the car.  
  
She didn't speak much, probably too involved in trying not to throw up again, and it wasn't until we had grabbed her car and were all the way back at the SWAT training facility that she managed to ask what she had probably been wondering since she had woken up.  
  
"Uh... how drunk was I?"   
  
"You sang Mandy," I said, low and sympathetically.   
  
She blinked. "What the fuck is 'Mandy'?"   
  
"It's a song. That you sang." Her stare was a blank one. Rounding into the training room, he tried again. "Barry Manilow?"   
  
"Who the hell is Barry Manilow?"   
  
"Nevermind, then." She blinked, still clutching her coffee cup, sinking down next to me as she nodded a greeting to Deke, too involved in a 'rock, paper, scissors' game with Boxer to nod back. "So I didn't ... uh... "  
  
"What?"   
  
She was blushing - Bad Ass Sanchez was actually blushing, red flush tinting her cheeks. "Didn't try to rape you or anything?" she asked finally, voice barely above a whisper.   
  
"RAPE ME?!"   
  
Boxer and Deke both looked up, staring straight at us. "Rape who?!"   
  
"Oh, nevermind," she muttered.   
  
But I couldn't help it. Thoughts swirled into my head and suddenly I was caught up between being horribly amused and audaciously offended. "Are you trying to tell me you're a horny drunk?"   
  
"Shut up, Street."  
  
"You're a horny drunk and I didn't even get a grope?!"   
  
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Eyes widened with confusion, her head swiveled up.  
  
"Who's a horny drunk?!" Deke asked, craning over to our side of the facility.  
  
"Is that any of your damned business? Not really, no," Sanchez snarled.   
  
I grinned, quirking an eyebrow and shrugging at them.   
  
Boxer couldn't have been less interested. "Anyone wanna tell me why we gotta do this training shit all over again just for ONE GUY?"   
  
"I'll be happy to, Boxer." And that was Hondo, always showing up at the right moment, staring at us as if he owned our asses, and could pimp us at will. "Because I say so. Simple enough to understand, isn't it?"   
  
Chris smirked, tossing a glance my way.   
  
Truth was, no one here was really looking forward to getting another team member. With TJ down and Boxer finally back, we had formed a tight knit group, knew each other's moves and the way we thought - no way in hell one of us wouldn't take a bullet for any of the others.   
  
Having to go through all that shit for a guy we barely knew? Didn't seem like the greatest way to spend two weeks.   
  
"So who is this mystery guy?" she asked, slumping back in her chair, bored already.   
  
"Came out of the force," Hondo clipped, arms crossed as he leaned back on the table, "Name's David Burress."   
  
The name struck a familiar tingle in my brain, and when Hondo looked at me knowingly, I suddenly made the connection. "The vegetarian?!"   
  
"He's a vegetarian?!" Deke repeated.   
  
Chris, amused at the revelation, observed, "Hey I don't think that'll work at our barbecue, Hondo."   
  
"Garden burgers," Boxer added. "Wife eats 'em."   
  
"Booo!"   
  
The guy ducked behind his desk when two empty Starbucks cups were lobbed in his direction. Sanchez and I are pretty good shots.   
  
"Hey, pipe down," Hondo said, fighting a smirk on his face, "The guy saved the life of the daughter of one of the captains - he's a bonafide hero."   
  
"Bonafide Vegetarian hero," I muttered to Chris beside me, who broke out into a too wide smile that she had to clamp down on when Hondo glared.   
  
"Captain asked him where he wanted to be, he said 'SWAT'. We had the only available opening. Now I want you to listen to me," Hondo said sharply. "This guy may not be what we normally look for, and I never would have picked him, but he's a good cop, and as of today, a part of this team. You keep your smart ass comments to yourself, and you treat him like one of your own. Your lives may depend on it some day. Do you get me?"   
  
Grudging "Yes, Sergeant"s, filtered through the room, and I felt absurdly like a kid back in high school, nudging Chris on the shoulder and doing my damndest to keep from laughing out loud.  
  
That was how David Buress got his first glimpse, coming into the room with perfectly ironed fatigues and a straight-face that was filled with all sorts of optimism, just waiting to get his ass kicked.   
  
"Burress," Hondo barked, "Take a seat. Meet your team members."   
  
"Good morning," he said pleasantly.  
  
David Burress, with his curly blonde hair and his stoic look, didn't seem fazed when we gave him absolutely no greeting at all. Deke just looked confused, Boxer gave no expression at all, Sanchez was scowling, and I found the whole thing so damned hilarious that I really could only just nod.   
  
Chris' eyebrows nearly went into her hair.   
  
"Meet Deke, Boxer, that's Sanchez and you already know Street."   
  
"Pleasure," he repeated, nodding his head at Deke and Boxer, turning to face them like a military man before he finally got a good look at Chris.   
  
Like I said you don't find many women in SWAT, so the fact that people do a double take when they see Chris is something we're all used to, Chris included, but this guy's reaction was slightly more amusing. He stood there, processed the fact that she was a girl a little slower than most, and suddenly changed his tone to a formal and polite, "Ma'am."   
  
Chris blinked, looked around her, and when she realized he was talking to her, spat at Hondo, "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."   
  
Deke snorted, palms covering his mouth, Boxer straight out laughed, boots up against the desk. I left my grin bare and naked, taking in the New Guy who still stood there rigidly, like he didn't know what we were laughing about, and patted Chris sympathetically on the shoulder, while Hondo glared at us all.   
  
Despite the fact that it was SWAT, and we were going to have to depend on this guy, I still found myself thinking it was a pretty fun start to the day.   
  
I should have fucking known. I should have gotten the hell off my desk and kicked his ass as soon as he looked at Sanchez.   
  
I'm serious. Remember how I said that this shit I was in wasn't my entire fault?   
  
Well, this guy is right up there on my shit list.   
  
He didn't see Chris as a guy, like we all did.   
  
No, from the moment he stepped in that room, he saw her as a woman.   
  
--  
  
At first, everything happened like I thought it would. In fact, I found the whole damned thing pretty funny.  
  
Imagine the most old-fashioned, straight-laced, poster boy for the Boy Scouts, and you've got yourself David Burress.   
  
Naturally, it was only a matter of time before everything he did pissed off Sanchez.   
  
Not only did he insist on calling her 'Miss' or 'Ma'am' at every opportunity, but he violated the first rule of dealing with Chris Sanchez.   
  
He treated her like a girl.   
  
Just the result of this was so funny nobody told him about the rule, so we all just sat and watched and laughed as he opened doors for her, offered her his hand to pull her up the mountain, tried to find the lightest AK-47 for her to handle.  
  
And this was all in the first day.  
  
Sanchez was pretty hilarious, too. The first time he opened a door, her scowl on her face was so murderous, Deke on instinct alone covered his groin.   
  
The second time he called her ma'am, she gave him a death glare and told him, "Listen freak - you call me that again I'll stick my foot so far up your ass it'll come out of your mouth."   
  
Finally, it was Hondo who came to his rescue, as the rest of us watched Chris storm off and laughed and pretended to look like we weren't paying attention.  
  
"Listen, Dave-"  
  
"David," he corrected politely.  
  
Deke snorted again, but never say that Hondo doesn't have patience, because that old sergeant just looked at him like he was a idiot for a bout a second, before his mouth pulled into a too-wide grin and he responded, "DavID. We have a really special team here."  
  
"Oh, I can see that, sir."   
  
"Yeah, well - we gotta treat everybody on the team, like they're no different from anybody else. You got that?"   
  
"Oh, yes sir."   
  
The guy was nodding so much he could have been a bobble-head. Sanchez, apparently over her little tirade, was back and by my side, hefting her weapon to distribute the weight and arching a questioning eyebrow.   
  
I just shrugged, dropping equipment on the ground and falling down with it.   
  
Hondo's stare was suspicious, not quite convinced that this guy really understood what he was saying. "Okay. Everyone."   
  
"Oh, yes, sir."  
  
"And stop calling me, sir."   
  
"Oh, yes- si - uh... um... yes?"   
  
Chris slipped to her rump, shoulder bumping mine. "The guy's a freakin' alien."   
  
It was low, meant for me, and I could only grin, chuckle dying when Hondo looked straight at us, eyes narrowing.  
  
"Fine. New plan. Sanchez."   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"You're going to pair up with Burress for the remainder of the two weeks."  
  
"What?!" The outburst came from both us, and before I knew it we were both scrambling up, protesting loudly.  
  
"That's bullshit!"   
  
"Hondo, you can't take me from Street!"   
  
"She's my partner!   
  
"We've got the simulations-"  
  
"SHUT UP!" he barked, and as I struggled to keep from mouthing off, I noticed Boxer and Deke staring us like they were watching a movie.   
  
I made a mental note to kick both their asses later.   
  
"Hondo-"  
  
"SHUT UP!" he repeated, hands up to ward us off. "I mean it. Number one: you and Street are so in tune you could be walking around blind and know where you are, two weeks isn't going to take that away, TWO - if either of you bitch at me about it one more time, you'll be working with him permanently."   
  
What the hell could you say to that?   
  
Chris looked severely pissed, and I was pissed, and we just stood there looking pissed off.   
  
Deke did a little dance, tip-toeing around us and whispering "Dayaaam."   
  
"Oh, shut up, Deke," Chris snapped, glancing at me in mutual misery until Hondo snapped at us to "Get your gear on and get back in formation."   
  
And David Burress there, slightly scared, waiting for Sanchez while she stood right next to me, staring her new partner down.  
  
"Shit."   
  
--  
  
"I'm fucking in hell, dude."   
  
The greeting in the locker room was more or less what I expected, closing my door to reveal Sanchez on the other side, looking as miserable as I had ever seen her.   
  
Rubbing at my wet frame vigorously, I gave a small smile. "Not working out?"   
  
"He actually tried to open the door for me in the last simulation. I mean I've heard of the age of chivalry, but this is insane!"   
  
"So talk to Hondo."   
  
"I did!" Slumping down on the bench, she pulled on her boots, tying the laces with angry tugs. "Told me that he was serious about the bitching, and that I needed to work this out with Burress before we got out in the field, because that last thing he needed was me kicking his ass in the middle of a hostage situation."   
  
I could help grinning at that. "You know it'll happen."   
  
"Yeah..." With a heavy sigh, she glanced up, brown-eyed bursts of misery aimed in my direction. "I miss having you as a partner."   
  
Throwing the towel aside, I straddled the bench, putting her other booted foot in my lap and working the laces. "Listen, just stick it out, find a way to work with this guy, and get it over with." She leaned back, tight t-shirt making her breasts stand out, hands supporting her on either side of the bench as she shot me a tired smirk. Finishing with the laces, I kept her foot in my lap, palms around her ankle. "He's part of our team now - you can't kill him."   
  
"Augh..."   
  
"We'll be back together before you know it."   
  
"I'll have you know I'm going through hell for you, Street."   
  
I suppose, looking back on that, that sitting there bare-chested with a skimpily dressed girl practically in my lap, staring into each other's eyes with idiotic grins on our faces was probably not as innocent as we thought it was.   
  
As it was, when Burress broke the moment with an, "Excuse me", I was too busy being annoyed at the interruption to figure that the little bastard was already processing what he had seen.  
  
Sanchez didn't seem to care either. Eyebrow arched highly, she only drawled lazily, "Oh look, it's my partner, before she took her foot out of my lap and got off the bench.  
  
"Hey, Sanchez-" I almost felt for the guy - Chris' death glare couldn't be matched by anyone. "I apologize if I offended you. Really, it was the last thing I wanted to accomplish."   
  
She glared, mouth open to retort when I caught her gaze, eyebrow raised.  
  
I fucked myself. I truly did.   
  
She processed my gaze, sighed heavily, and then began in a stilted voice, "Look, man - you can't keep making concessions for me just because I'm a girl-"  
  
"But that's not my intention-"  
  
"Don't open doors for me unless I tell you to. In this job, every second counts - and if you're going to work with us - you gotta make me not want to kick your ass!" He blinked, I snorted, keeping my face looking toward the ground. "You got it?"   
  
"Yes... I understand."   
  
"Good." She gave him a wary glare, me a half-hearted wave, and grabbed her duffel, slinging it over her shoulder. "Now I'm going home - gonna try to cook my kid a dinner that doesn't suck - and I'll see you both tomorrow."   
  
"Oh, you have a child?" David asked.   
  
I swallowed down my smile at her scathing glare back. "Yes."   
  
"So you're married."   
  
Now, it was incredulous. "No! Now shut up! I'm gonna go!"   
  
And she did, leaving us behind with a stomp and a couple curses in Spanish. It left me alone with David, Deke still in the shower and Boxer long gone. Not really where I wanted to be.  
  
"Wow. She's... um... she's a pistol."   
  
"Uh... yeah." Grabbing my shirt off the shelf in the locker, I wondered how long it would take for me to get to the front door before he popped off another conversation.   
  
"Umm... James."   
  
"Jim."   
  
"Jim - do you mind if I asked you a question?"   
  
I'm too fucking nice. I know this. "What is it?"   
  
"Well - you were Sanchez's partner. And it's obvious you got along pretty well, so..."   
  
Sighing, I grabbed my boots. "Look, if you're going to survive the week - or the next two years, you gotta learn something, okay?"   
  
"Sure." He nodded almost too earnestly.  
  
"Chris is a guy."   
  
"Excuse me?"   
  
"Chris? Treat her like a guy."   
  
He looked dumbstruck. "But she's not a guy."   
  
I narrowed my gaze. "I know that. But on this job - you treat her like a guy." He continued to look at me like I had grown a second head. "Okay," I tried again. "Look. If even for a second, you start to think that Chris is special or deserves any kind of special attention because she's got breasts - you put the whole team in danger - we don't stop for opened doors. And you offend her when you do that."  
  
"I'm sorry if I do, but I was always raised-"  
  
"Forget how you're raised. This is SWAT. We make our own rules or we get dead - trust me, we learned that the hard way."   
  
He still looked a little confused, but at the very least, he nodded. "I think I understand."  
  
"Good. And one more thing -" I stopped, turned, and finally managed to give him a good ass kicking glare. "If you make her any more miserable, as her real partner, I WILL beat you down. Hard."   
  
It was supposed to intimidate, but I don't think it worked, because all I got was a wide smile, and an extended hand. "Thanks, Jim. It was a pleasure."   
  
Arching my eyebrow, I could only glance at the hand. "Let me ask you something. How did you not get beat up as a kid?"   
  
"I'm a second degree black belt in Tai Kwon Do," he said seriously.   
  
And for a second, I almost liked the guy.  
  
"See you tomorrow, David," I said, shaking his hand with a vicious yank and moving around him.   
  
"Thanks for the advice!"   
  
And I really am a moron. I waved him off, too busy thinking maybe he wasn't so bad after all and wondering where the hell I was taking Mandy that night that it never occurred to me that I had literally just shot myself in the foot.   
  
But how the hell could I have known? Who the hell would have been able to predict that Chris Sanchez would fall for a guy like David Burress?   
  
End part III Coming Soon: Part IV - In Which Chris Gets a New Partner 


	4. Part IV: In Which Chris Gets a New Partn...

_**Author's Notes: **Dear Readers- thanks so much for the reviews and the encouragement. It has been brought to my attention that thanks to the last line, I seem to have given a few of your heart attacks, and in response I say, without conflict, there is no drama, without drama, there is no story, and without a story - there's no reason to write. :-) As it is, I am, truly at heart, a Chris/Jim writer, and it would probably not be in my best interest to write a story in first person only to have Jim endure watching Chris fall for someone for nothing. Take your hearts into my hands, and trust me that although I tend to fuck with people's minds - it only makes the ending that much more sweet.___

_Jim is just acting like a moron- and as a result, we get to have fun. :-)___

_Lou Serbio: One thing I didn't get was Jim's thought of "I f*cked myself. I truly did." Why did he think that? - Well, because if hadn't told Chris to give Ole' David a chance, she probably wouldn't have given him a chance. As a result, he did, and he ended up fucking himself. ;-)_**__**

**_So read on, enjoy, and don't kill me when you finish this chapter._******

**Part IV: In Which Chris Gets a New Partner**

Friday morning found me on the green, rifle in my hand, mind whirling because the ever available Mandy had decided to put on the breaks and try to 'go more slowly'. 

Which meant Jim got no sex and now had to court a girl that I was sure was perfectly lovely in her own right - but looking for a commitment. 

Which I think, we've already established, I am nowhere near ready for. 

So now, I was contemplating whether or not to break it off with her now, or wait a couple dates, see if sex was forthcoming, and break it off later. 

And while I was trying to decide between these truly virtuous choices, Chris found me, smile lighting up her face as she plopped down next to me, shaded by the tree in the crisp morning air. 

"God!" she yelped, raising her butt off the ground to peer beneath her. "It's still wet!" 

"Do you care?" I asked, too lazy to do anything about the bark scratching at my back. 

She contemplated, and then finally said, "Nah, not really," before she let her rump fall, nudging me aside for her half of the tree. 

"You're early," I commented. 

"Yeah," she agreed, squinting into the green, glancing around. "I'm supposed to meet David-" her face froze into an immediate scowl as her mouth sounded out her new partner's name, emphasis on the 'id'. "He asked me about that line thing you taught me." 

"The line thing?" I repeated. 

"Yeah." Shoving at my shoulder with her own, she motioned with her hand. "You know - the place where you drool!" 

I widened my grin. "I know - but I want you to know." 

"Asshole." Waggling my eyebrows wickedly, I held my ground, letting her bump me one more time, until she was almost in my lap. "Well, you don't need to know what it is to shoot it." 

"I can't believe he wants to learn how to shoot somebody in the face." 

"Hey - I'm doing this for you, okay Street? You told me to find a way to work with this guy and-" 

"We're back to being partners, I know." I grinned. "Doesn't mean I don't feel sorry for you." 

"Well, he can't be all super great, he's late," she answered, glancing down at her watch. It was a nice moment, despite the fallen leaf in her hair, and I picked it out easily enough, smoothing back a small bang that had fallen loose from her face. 

"You have a thing with hair," she said flatly. 

I paused, fingers frozen between strands. "What?" 

"You're always picking at my hair. I've noticed that. You have a hair fetish." 

She said it matter-of-factly, almost resigned, as if she knew it was going to happen, and was perfectly okay with it. 

As if I had a perfect right to be massaging her strands. 

So I let them stay there, initial embarrassment washed away by the frank look of understanding, the intimate moment where there was me and Chris on an empty field, sitting under a tree, body against mine and fingers tangled in hair. 

Seriously. I'm turning into such a girl. 

"Listen..." Dropping her bangs, I shifted a little, so I was facing her, glancing from the green, and back to her smile. "What are you doing tonight?" 

Her mouth quirked slightly, almost pulled into an expression that was gone too quickly for me to see. 

"Are you missing out on our bonding time?" 

Almost singsong - she loved to tease. It seemed at times that I amused Chris - that she found humor in everything I did, from the way I spoke to woman to how I tried to ask her out. 

Either that or she was just purposely dense. 

At the moment I thought it was former, I realize now - it was the latter. Chris is a guy. 

"SANCHEZ!" 

We weren't alone anymore. David ran up to us, grey shirt drenched with sweat and smile bright on his face as he held up two rifles. "I apologize for being late. I got here early to run, and then-" 

"You got here earlier than this?" 

"I try to run five miles before training if I can help it." 

I was really starting not to like this guy. It was like he was a self winding timer when it came to me and Chris. 

"Morning, Jim." 

Sighing, I leaned forward, pushing myself up with my rifle and taking his once again outstretched hand. "Morning, David." 

If he noticed the unusual emphasis on the 'id' part of it, he was too polite to say much. 

"Allright then, you ready?" Chris asked, and without thinking both of us had our hands out, ready to lift her to us. 

Presented with such chivalrousness, Chris only blinked, glancing between both palms and rolling her eyes, poking at each with her rifle before she got up easily. 

To David she gave just as uneasy smile - I got a look that clearly indicated she thought I should plead temporary insanity. 

All I could do was shrug. 

"Okay then, see you later, Street," she said, turning with Borress. "Let's go, Dave." 

And that's how they left me, her walking toward the shooting range, rifle in hand, quick, purposeful steps, and him following after her like a puppy, my offer to go out that night completely forgotten. 

"It's David." 

"Dave? Shut up - It's Dave to me." 

"But I really prefer-" 

"Dave?" 

"Yes..." 

"Shut up." 

I really should have known. 

--   
  
Now, I have to admit, despite the disturbing penchant for politeness and chivalry, David Burress had the makings of a good SWAT officer. Not a great one, but one that could stick around for a few years. 

After about a week of being without a partner and watching Chris take his shit, it wasn't really an observation I wanted to make. 

Deke and Boxer had a bet going on when Chris would actually snap and beat his pansy ass, but for some inane reason, it never happened. 

I don't know who changed, him or her, but all of a sudden they managed to get through a day without Chris threatening to kill him. 

It wasn't funny anymore. 

Sure, she still sat next to me during the debriefing and training sessions, and sure, we still got our smiles and jokes, but every time she sat down, there was damned David Burress right on the other side of her, asking her questions and making really stupid jokes that at first made her stare at him blankly, two days later made her smile, and this morning made her actually laugh. 

I was actually pissed for once that Hondo was late. I had been sitting there for about five minutes without even a look from her, because damned David Burress was telling her some shit story about a missionary trip he took to the Philippines when he was fourteen that 'changed his life'. I have no idea what the hell caused me to do it, but suddenly I was snorting, making some joke about Americans and kidnapping and prostitutes. 

I don't know what I said. I know it was stupid, and soon as the words slipped out of my mouth I wanted to crawl into a hole, but I just sat there with this idiotic stupid grin while everyone in the room looked at me like I had a grown a second head - Chris included. 

David took the moment to excuse himself, his way of saying he had to go pee, and for once, I actually had my partner back. 

"What the hell was that?" she snapped as soon as he walked out of the door. 

"I don't know," I mumbled. 

"That was tasteless, Street," Chris continued, eyes narrowing. 

"Left a stank in my mouth," Deke agreed. 

"Right - and I'm the only one not allowed to make tasteless jokes around here?" I asked, defensive and willing to defend my horrible, offensive joke to the end, "Yesterday, Boxer was talking about midgets and circus clowns." 

"But that was funny," he threw in, relaxed in the last row, winking slightly. 

Damned Deke broke out into chuckles, reliving the moment. "That was funny, man." 

Through all of this, Chris continued to look at me, a strange glare on her face, like for the first time ever, she didn't quite understand me. 

"Look, Street - I know Dave is a lot to take sometimes, but, he's running through his final simulation today. He's nervous-" 

Apparently, the amazingly huge foot in my mouth didn't feel it had been prevalent enough today, because the fact that Chris was defending David Burress against ME just seemed a little too much to take, when a week ago she nearly clobbered him on the driving range. So I opened my mouth and turned into a typical, jerky guy. 

"Sanchez, I don't need a lecture from you, okay? I'm not the rookie here." 

And of course, Deke had to go and make it worse by making his little squeal and 'DAYAM' that played over Chris' face as the words processed through her. I was an ass. A total ass, and she obviously felt it so keenly that she turned, eyes on the desk, shifting her body until it was away from me. 

"Fuck you, Street," she said finally, in a low and final tone. 

"Chris-" 

But of course that's when David came back to an unusually quiet room, and Hondo was right behind him, and since Chris was no longer my partner and not exactly a guy, I couldn't talk to her in the final simulation and I couldn't get near her in the locker room. 

All in all - a truly horrible fucking day that was about to get worse. Remember when Chris mentioned David's final simulation? 

Well - normally the whole team would have to go through an entire test, but since David was already a company hero thanks to the stunt he pulled with the Captain's daughter, and the fact that rest of us were considered the best SWAT team they had - all David had to do was a test on his own, judged by the rest of us. 

Naturally, because Chris ran through it as his partner and Chris is one of the best fucking partners a guy could have, he passed through it fine, and even though he didn't curse or shove, he had quick reflexes and was a damned good shot. Sometimes, that's all that matters. 

When we heard that David had passed the simulation, he and Chris got this huge ass smile and smacked palms and did some stupid thing with their fingers, before he called her 'partner' and seriously invaded her personal space by giving her a hug. My only real consolation was that when he did that, Sanchez gave him the same 'you're an alien' stare she had been giving me all day. 

In celebration for his momentous achievement, we were supposed to go to the bar, even though David made this huge protest because he didn't drink beer. Fucker. 

For about half an hour I sat in the locker room by myself, debating whether or not to go, before I realized, hey, who was I kidding - of course I was going to go, because I needed to get back on Chris' good side before the next week, because that was when I was getting my partner back and the last thing I needed was Chris' cold shoulder and frosty glare. It's deadly as hell. 

By the time I got there, everyone was in their usual spot. In mine sat David, posture rigid, a small, "I'm not sure I get what's so fun about this" smile on his face and a soda water in his hand, smiling at Chris while Deke was on the tail end of some story about a condom. 

"Hey, Street what's up?" Boxer said, grinning as he cocked his beer bottle at me. Deke also gave me his own greeting, a slap of his palm against mine with a lazy nod. 

I could really give a shit about anyone but Chris, whose laughter died in her throat immediately, before she glanced away and took a long swig of her bottle. 

Like the military man I was, I had a plan, and a big part of that was not to be an ass just because I couldn't stand David Burress. So I pasted a smile on my face and extended my palm, shaking his hand warmly and saying awkwardly, "Congratulations, man, welcome to the team." 

"Thank you," he said, surprise stilting his tone before he smiled and shook my hand harder. "Thanks." 

That done, I turned my attention to my partner. "Hey... can I talk to you for a sec?" 

Once again, Deke and Boxer were watching this like they could have been sharing a tub of popcorn, and once again, I made the mental note to kick their asses. 

But Sanchez' look was cool, processing my face and my apologetic stance, before she murmured, "Sure" and rose out of her seat, moving around me to the other side of the bar. 

Deke's expression, rounded eyes, mouth open, would have been amusing if it didn't irritate me so much. "She didn't even curse, dog." 

Boxer shivered and took another gulp of beer. "Your funeral, Street." 

"Thanks for the support," I muttered, swiveling on my foot and following her lithe body through the crowds to the bar, where she now stood, elbows on the wood, fingers trailing the rim of her beer bottle. 

I'm sure I had come up with something, some apology or speech - but for the life of me, I couldn't remember what it was. I ended up moving next to her, picking up a cocktail napkin and tearing it to shreds, staring at the white bits of paper while I tried to come up with anything to say to her. 

Finally, I just couldn't stand the silence, and I blurted, "Sanchez, look-" 

"It's okay, Jim." Her interruption was unexpected, eyes brown and gentle, and unlike I had ever seen her before. "I mean, it's really not - but everyone's allowed to have an asshole day - you included." 

"It's not all right," I managed, cutting through my surprise and edging closer, her elbow digging into my chest. "Listen, Chris, I don't know what came over me, but-" 

"Fuck, Jim, the only reason I even gave him a chance is because of you." 

I blinked, red flush coming over my features, mouth falling open. "Yeah..." 

She smiled, eyes rolling in that way she does when she's amused against her will, and she continued, "Just stop running your mouth off before you think, all right? The only one allowed to have outbursts and fits is me." 

I couldn't help the grin, warm feeling seeping into my stomach as I gently tapped at her chin, an affectionate gesture she was expecting. "At any rate, come Monday, I'll have my partner back and everything will go back-" 

"Actually, two weeks." 

I blinked, mouth falling open. "What?" 

"Two weeks," she said again. "David asked Hondo if I could stay on as his partner a little longer until he felt more comfortable with the procedures and shit. I said it was fine - I mean he needs the training, and none of us feel like dying if he fucks up, so..." 

"Two weeks." 

She shrugged, non-committal, like she never told me that she missed me and the only reason she was tolerating his presence was to get back to me as soon as possible. 

"You're okay with that?!" I blurted, too surprised to be angry, but getting there damned quickly. 

"Sanchez!" Speak of the devil - the mother fucker actually had followed us to the bar, coming up on the other side of her and before I could get her back, Deke and Boxer now had me, slapping at my back and talking about shots. 

The fact that I was a guy who never stopped playing cops and robbers doesn't allocate much for my maturity level. I spent the next two hours drinking beers and sulking my ass off, even to the point of begging off Deke and Boxer's constant demands to get me to speak to other girls, citing my 'relationship' with Mandy. 

Now why I would bring up Mandy when I hadn't seen her since the second date, I didn't know - but I think we've already established that my mouth had a mind of it's own, because like an ASSHOLE, I said it loud, and Chris just happened to hear. It was enough to make her stop talking to Dickweed David for a second, glancing at me with a questioning arch of her eyebrow, before Dumb David starting talking again, she was swept back into their conversation. 

Asshole. 

But the beers had made me mellow, and Boxer and Deke were long gone - heading to their families before their wives killed them, so when Chris went to the bathroom, and David and I were alone - I didn't pound the little shit like I should have. I just sat there. 

"God... she's..." David took the silence as an invitation for a heart to heart. He shimmied in his chair and gave this stupid happy sigh and grinned at me. "She is absolutely unique, isn't she? I mean, what she's accomplished, and her daughter is just..." 

"You've met her daughter?" I barked. 

"Yeah, last night," he said, as if this wasn't at all important, and no reason to kill his ass, "I just... I never knew women could be like her." 

I considered this, staring into my beer before I finally looked up, eyes glittering with feeling. "So... you got a crush on Chris?" 

He at least, looked almost embarrassed by it. "I wouldn't call it a crush, but..." 

"Stop it." 

"Excuse me?" 

Eyes narrowed in a glare, I plonked my beer down, and I said convincingly, "You don't get emotionally involved with your teammates. You treat them like any other guy. Chris is a guy. Stop it." 

He blinked, slightly confused, before he readjusted and continued with, "If you haven't noticed, Chris is a remarkable, very attractive woman-" 

Oh, Fuck YOU, David. 

"David-" 

"-who deserves so much more than-" 

"David, fuck off," I snapped, and I guess it surprised him, because he closed his mouth, and actually sounded aggravated. 

"I'm going to ignore that because you've had more than a couple beers, but cops date each other all the time, and I'm not going to let the fact that we're partners-" 

"She's NOT your partner!" Okay, by this time, I have to admit that the bar was getting a little too quiet, but at the moment I was too pissed to care. "She's MY partner." 

"Look, Jim - you be the kind of partner you like to be, I'll do the same. Just because you can't see her as a woman, doesn't mean I'm not allowed to." 

"The HELL you are," I growled, disgruntled and pissed truly ready to smash the bottle over his head if he even started talking about Chris being a woman again. 

He must have sensed it, because his mouth shut, and the vein right below his jaw ticked, and suddenly we were two SWAT guys standing straight up staring at each other with fists. 

I was drunk enough to hit him, but that was the moment when Chris pushed through the crowed, processed the scene, and remarked, "What the hell is this?" 

I was too pissed to answer much, but Good Ole' Boy Scout DAVID, with his DAMNED prissy manners, gave her a smile and a nod. "Nothing. It's silly." 

That smile at Chris was more than I could take. Without a word, I dropped my beer and pushed past them both, ignoring Chris' frown and David's smile. 

"Jim, what-" 

"I gotta go to the bathroom," I grunted, waving off Chris' confusion and losing myself in the crowds. 

It was a really good fucking time to call Mandy. 

Later, when the beer had worn off and I had a conversation with a girl that I still can't remember, I began to realize it was about that time to find Chris and head off. 

I have no idea why I was so stupid. 

For some reason, in my alcohol ridden head, it never occurred to me that Chris wouldn't want to come out for our non-sex date. It was tradition, and being as it had been such a crappy ass day already, the one salvation was a chance to lie on the beach and spend some quality time with my partner Chris. 

I looked through the nearly empty bar and she wasn't there, so I went out into the parking lot to find her car, and that was when this truly fucking horrible excuse for a day really became the worst day of my entire life. 

I didn't stop, calling her name as I jogged to her car, and it wasn't until I was ten feet away that I realized what the hell I had interrupted. 

Startled, flushed, and pressed up against the car, Chris had just been in the middle of kissing David Burress. 

**End Part IV**

_Coming Soon- Part V: In Which Jim Seriously Screws Up_   
  



	5. Part V: In Which Jim SERIOUSLY Screws Up

_Author's Note: Gonna try to finish this up and get it all posted today. Four more chapters, including this one, because I know work is going to be a bitch next week and I'm going to need a clear head. ;-) Wish me luck._****

**Part V: In Which Jim Seriously Screws Up**

There's something to be said for pure shock: it works damned well on numbing the nerves. 

That and alcohol - you combine them both? Damn good pain suppressant. 

Chris had very fast reflexes, and if I didn't trust my eyesight so much, then I could probably have made myself believe that what I had just seen hadn't really just happened. 

But David Burress was right next to her, hand still on her back, looking aggravated at being interrupted, and I was just standing there, because I couldn't figure out what else to do, so it made for a slightly awkward situation. 

"Jim..." That was Chris. She didn't even look guilty, just startled, hand on David's belt, still there because I had taken them by surprise. 

And that was about when the reality of it all was finally starting to sink in. I was actually lucky in one respect - one thing in that totally crappy ass day - I wasn't drunk enough to try to kick anyone's ass, I was really just at that point where I just was very, very sad. 

And the ground wanted to move a lot. 

"I was just... gonna..." I stumbled back, and I really don't think I was as drunk as Chris later led me to believe. Come to think of it, I think I stumbled on a concrete curb or something, and THAT was why I actually fell on my ass, and clonked my head on the car. 

"JIM!" 

"I'm fine," I said, nodding as I tried to push her away. "I'm fine. My cars right over there-" 

"Oh, shit. You're drunk." 

"I said I'm fine! I'm fine!" To prove it, I managed to get back on my feet, and between you and me, it was a little harder than I originally thought it would be. Still, with one hand on the cold metal of the car, I was doing pretty well for myself. "See?" I told Chris and David when I had finally righted myself. "I'm fine." 

"I really don't think he should drive like that." 

Stupid David. With his stupid head that for some reason there was suddenly two of and why was there stuff on my head? 

"My head is wet." 

"Oh, fuck - let me see that." And my head was shoved down so that my face was momentarily between Chris' very nice cleavage. I considered trying to talk to see what it would feel like to move my lips against her breasts, but I didn't even get to do that because she suddenly let go and smacked me on the shoulder. 

"OWW!" 

"You cut your head, you idiot!" 

"And that's making it better?" 

She sighed, biting down on her lip in frustration as she glared at me again, glancing back at David and then back at me. 

"Do we need to take him to the doctor?" Stupid David. Dumb David. Dillweed David. Dorky Dav- 

"No, it doesn't look that bad. You know what? I'm just gonna take him home." 

And at the moment, I remembered what I had caught them out here doing, and suddenly, in self righteous glory, I put my foot down. "No! I can take myself home." 

"You're drunk, you asshole," she snapped at me, palm wrapped around my bicep. 

"I can help you-" 

"Nah, it's cool. His dog's cool if he knows you but if he doesn't he'll take you down. He's a retired police dog." 

My dog? My dog! Ha! "Yeah, he's a retired police dog," I said, "And he will TAKE YOU DOWN." 

"Jim, shut the fuck up." Unfortunately, my amusement at the situation was short-lived, because stupid ass David decided that just because he managed to plant one on my partner, he could do it again. And he did, less than a foot away from me; this stupid, chaste peck on her lips that made it look like the dumb fuck was falling in love with MY partner. 

I was seriously nauseated. 

"Can I call you?" 

She glanced at him for a minute, processing his smile and the way he grinned, and she actually nodded, smiling in this stupid way. "Yeah, you prick. You can call me." 

"Good. Good." He stepped back, looking dumber than I did, waddling back and bobbing his head like a duck. "I'll call you. Maybe we can..." 

"Sure." 

I didn't really like Chris right then. I didn't like David either. And thanks to the scene I had witness, all my numbing alcoholic pain just went straight out of me and made me want to hurl. 

Didn't even get the chance to do that. Before I knew it, he was gone, and she was digging into my pockets for my keys, ignoring my comments about fishing for it a little more to the left and pushing me in my car with so much force I think I got blood on my seats. 

"Oww." 

"Shut up. Why the hell are you always such a baby when you drink?" Already, she was out of the drive-way and turning onto the Pacific Coast Highway. 

The liquor settled slightly, turned in my stomach, and as the wind hit my face, a cold salty tangy moisture, my eyes suddenly fell on Chris, hair blowing wantonly in the air, tank shop tight and arms perfectly toned. 

And she had let David kiss her. My partner, who said she missed me, and only tolerated him for me, had told Hondo it was okay to be without me for two more weeks and let David Fucking Burress kiss her. 

I didn't want to see her. 

"You should have let me take a cab," I muttered, crossing my arms and burying my head back in the cushioned headrest. 

"Don't be such an asshole, Jim." Her tone was sharp, angry, like I deserved to be yelled at, and maybe I did. Because according to her, because Chris is as dense as a guy, her partner had just ruined potential sex, and wasn't the rule that partners never overruled great sex? "Are you okay?" The anger was gone now, her eyes flickering from the road to me, worry clearly on her face. "How's your head?" 

"It's fine," I snapped, pushing her hand away and keeping my face on the road. She stayed silent, driving fast and swerving across a turn. "So... you gonna date DavID, now?" 

She waited a moment before replying, like she was trying to feel me out. "Didn't see much of a reason not to." 

My laughter at that was bitter, angry, and she didn't even bother to question it. With a turn, we were at my apartment building, Chris digging in my glove compartment for the card key to let her into my garage, cause she knows parking is a bitch. 

"Come on," she said, shoving at my shoulder as she opened her door. 'I'm not carrying you." 

So I got out, walking with her to the elevator, watching like a child as she pushed the button to my floor. 

"So... what's the attraction?" I asked, head starting to bang a bit, making me wince a little and dig my hands further into my pockets. 

She shrugged, arms crossed and tone level as she remarked easily, "Maybe I just wanna try not dating a complete asshole for once." I didn't respond, and when she glanced at me, she decided it was okay to continue. "He's not like the other cops I know, Street. He's genuinely nice. I mean, I thought it was a load of bullshit before, but he's just a seriously nice guy. There's no games with him." 

I didn't want to hear anymore. "Chris?" 

"What?" 

With a puppy grin and a wince to the back of my head, I said, "I'm probably not going to remember any of this." 

She grinned. "Maybe that's why I'm telling you. Cause sober you'd be making fun of me." 

"I still reserve that right." The door opened, and gently, my girl Chris grabbed my hand, leading me to my apartment and opening the door to the typical bachelor pad of a typical guy who was just like any other typical asshole cop that Chris had known. 

I glanced at it, going over the dirty dishes, and the television too big for the room, the big dog jumping about excitedly. Empty beer bottles on the counter and old pizza boxes on the stove. 

David wouldn't live like this. 

"Come on," she said, reminding me she was here, instead of with him, pushing me on my bed and leaving me there to go into my bathroom. 

Rox, my big retired police dog, licked my hands and wagged his hail so excitedly, it thumped against my legs. "Hey, Rox," I whispered. 

"Oomph. Out of the way, you animal." Dropping the band-aids and antiseptic on my bed, Chris patted him affectionately, scooting him over with her legs to take his place between my knees. Smiling grimly, she glanced into my eyes, before nodding. "Look down." 

I did, directly down on her beautiful breasts, round and supple, perfectly sized to fit into my hands, if I wanted to hold them, nipples hard from the cold beach air, a perfect distance from my mouth, within easy reach... 

"It's not too bad," I heard above me. "You won't need stitches or anything. Let me just clean it..." 

I hissed as she poured the Hydrogen Peroxide on my head, the chill unexpected. 

"Shut up," she remarked, laughter in her tone as she reached around me for a band-aid. "It's not even a scratch." 

"It's COLD." 

"Yeah, right. Shit. That's not gonna work. Well... the bleeding's stopped. You should be okay." Kneeling down, she pulled my boots off, working the laces quickly. My mood was settling in, soft and mellow, David a far off dream, as she pulled off my shirt and pushed me gently back on the bed, reaching for the covers and tucking me in. "You are seriously such a baby." 

Her hair was wild, wind blown, and I reached up, tangling a strand in my fingers. Too tired to do anything but look, I smiled, worshiping my partner with an adoring glance. 

"I love you." Yes, I was drunk. Completely. Had I been sober, chances are I never would have even thought to say that, but the words came tumbling from my lips, and I loved the sound of them, wanted to say them over and over to her, keep her here on my bed so I could tell her over and over that I loved her. 

She blinked, words registering, my heart on a precipice, before her face broke out into a beautiful grin and she answered lightly, "Love you, too, Partner." God, she was dense. Such a dense guy. But before I could protest that she had it all wrong, she did something she had never done before. Her lips brushed my forehead and her knuckles caressed my cheek, and with a whispered affectionate, "You asshole," she left me, turning off my light, and closing the door to my apartment. 

Waking up Saturday morning with a massive hangover, and a dog who really needed to go out, I found myself amazed that I could actually remember the events that had transpired. I remembered the bar, I remembered the parking lot, I remembered the car ride, and the ride to my elevator. I remembered my whispered confession. 

And I realized I had much more than a crush. 

Sitting on the beach, watching my dog dancing in the waves, I realized one more thing: it was way too late. 

Falling hard for Chris was a guy who was a ready-made husband. A nice guy who thought she was a freaking goddess, who didn't call girls just for sex, who wasn't like every other asshole cop who wanted to get laid and got laid on a regular basis. 

I was Chris' partner. That was what I was good at. When I was Chris' partner, I wasn't the asshole that amused her so much when we went to bars. When I was her partner, she was my best friend, my best relationship - the longest and healthiest relationship I ever remember having. 

Problem was, she never knew she was having it. 

I had been so busy pretending Chris was a guy that I hadn't really understood why I was trying so hard to pretend. I had figured that I had time to deal with this shit, that I could have my non-dates with Chris, and be with her, and still be the guy I was before, have my Mandys on the side because it didn't matter yet. 

Never thought I'd have to deal with the Davids. And that's who Chris wanted, anyhow. Nice guys like David, not dime-a-dozen assholes like me. 

I wanted to call Chris. I did - but deep down, I'm still an asshole, and with all this shit going around in my head, I didn't want to deal with seeing her. 

So I let Saturday and Sunday go by, and Monday morning, Hondo called me into his office. 

Hondo is a serious asshole and a great cop. He's not married - his life is his job, and he could care less about settling down, having kids. His life is his team, his head right where it's supposed to be. On his squad. No distractions. 

That morning, sitting across from him, I could see myself where he was, twenty years from now. 

For some reason, it depressed the hell out of me. 

"Called you in here for a couple reasons," he began without preamble, looking up at me with that look that makes me think he knows more than he lets on. "First off, what do you think of the new guy?" 

I considered my answer, kept my voice low, without emotion. "Nice guy." 

"I didn't ask if he was a nice guy, Street, and you know it. Do you think he's a good cop?" 

Again, I considered my answer, came out with, "I think he's a great cop." 

He narrowed his gaze. "But not better than you." 

I couldn't help but grin at that. "No one's better than me." 

That's the attitude that he was looking for, cocky, self-assured, just like him. He cracked a smile, nodding his head and leaning back, pleased. 

"That what you asked me in here for?" I asked. 

If it were only so easy. "No," he said without preamble. "The reason I called you in here is because Burress has requested to take another month of your partner's time." 

I blinked, processing the statement. "A month?" I repeated. "Wha'd Chris say?" 

"I haven't talked to Sanchez, yet, I'm talking to you," he snapped. "She's your partner, you have as much a say in this as she does." 

He was handing me her leash, just when I had the least right to claim it. I shifted in my seat, shuffled uncomfortably, laughing this horrible little chuckle that sounded like a cough. 

He watched me with his hawk eyes. "You and Sanchez work well together. I'm not denying that. But you're a great cop, Street - you can make it work with anyone." 

And because of that, I was going to sit here and let Sanchez get ripped away from me like a band-aid. The one thing I had left. 

"I'm Chris's partner," I cut in, stony gaze stubborn on my boss. 

He considered that, the emotional outburst, the agitated knocking of my fingers on the side of my chair, creating deep, dark taps that echoed in the silence that followed. 

"Not anymore," he said finally, and before I could register the drop of my heart and the surging anger, he continued, "And neither is Burress." I'm sure the shock must have registered on my face pretty quickly, but he went on, as if not noticing. "I've been watching this team, and I've come to the conclusion that some members don't seem to be gelling." He was asking for a confirmation from me, but I gave him nothing. Nodding slightly, he continued. "So until, I can figure out what the hell is going on with half of my team members, I will be taking Sanchez under my wing. She will ride with me. For the time being, Burress will be your new partner." 

That conclusion left me stunned, throwing out a bitter laugh that was disbelieving, almost mocking. "You're kidding, right?" 

Of course, that would be when the pagers went off, disrupting my would be tirade. Calmly, Hondo took the phone out of his belt and glanced at it. 

"Better go get your new partner," he said pleasantly. "We're heading out." 

-- 

So we headed out – what should have been a call that we could have handled any day of the week. Nothing major – four guys barricaded in a house on a drug raid that had gone bad, holding two cops hostage for no real reason except they were panicked and scared. 

My mind should have been on the call. I know that. But our van was crowded and quiet, Sanchez looking bewildered and Burress not saying much of anything at all as he rode next to me. Deke and Boxer, usually talking non-stop, kept their mouths shut, sharing looks that made me wonder whether their wives had anything to worry about. 

We got there, bursting through the reporters and the cop cars, filing out of the van and pulling together gear, my and my 'partner', who had gotten the news from me with a clipped, "You and are together now, let's go." 

I didn't want to see Chris' expression, didn't want to have to deal with her, and that was the beginning of my little fuck up. 

Because yeah, I fucked up. Big time. First time in my life when I went in on a mission with my mind not on the job, and I should have known better. I knew that. 

It was Hondo who came up with the plan, straight forward and to the point – half the team busting through the back, two of us in the front, and one shooter on the roof, keeping us covered should any of these guys get a little brave. 

We should have handled it – we should have never had a problem. 

"Allright," Hondo said, hands on his hips, glancing between the five of us, and nodding. "Sanchez, Boxer, you'll go in with me through the back. Burress, you and Street are covering the front, busting that door down, I want those flash-bang grenades as soon as the doors open. You got it?" 

"We can handle it," I said matter-of-factly. 

"Good," he snapped, never questioning. "Deke – you're the best shot we have – I want you on that roof, you keep your eye on us. Don't let any of us get dead in there." 

"Don't worry, I'll be watching." 

"Allright," he said, because he trusted and knew us, knew we'd get the job done. "Let's do it." 

It was tense, too tense. Sanchez glanced back, and I wasn't sure she was looking at me or Burress before she followed Hondo and Boxer. Deke, big and muscular, had to concentrate on getting on that roof without announcing that we were in there, and my concentration, I thought, was on the mission. 

But I felt Burress beside me, listening and responding automatically to Hondo's whispered instructions, my grenade in my hand, ready to go off. Sanchez whispered in her radio in my ear, and at that moment, I looked at Burress, and I remembered, at that moment, what it felt like to stumble up on Chris kissing him – a sudden flash, and she was fucking him, arching hips and whispering moans while he pumped into her- 

"NOW!" 

And I came back to life, remembered the mission, seconds too late, lobbing my grenade clumsily, nearly tripping into a fevered Burress as we toppled into the door, into the shouts and smoke and bullets. 

On this job – everything happens in fast forward, a minute is a minute too long, and ten seconds is the difference between life and death. 

Burress froze, saw something I didn't see and dropped his guard, seconds too late to see the guy behind him, waving his gun crazily. The grenade I had tossed, I processed immediately, hadn't been set right, it hadn't gone off – lying there like a recycled coke can, and my finger quirked, even though I knew it was coming too late- 

The guy's face exploded into a haze of red, and it wasn't my shot that did it. But Burress was clean. But as I heard shouts and curses, I suddenly realize why Burress froze. 

The smoke was clearing, and it was then I finally saw the haze of my partner, slumped against the door, arm stretched up, a wavering pistol in her hand, straight at the guy she had just brought down. 

The same arm, was soaked red with blood. Sanchez took in a ragged breath, glancing up at Hondo as he knelt beside her, and with a swallow, she nodded, dropping her hand and curling it into her side. 

I knew then, I had seriously FUCKED UP. 

**End Part V******

_Coming Soon: Part VI: In Which Chris Decides_   
  



	6. Part VI: In Which Chris Decides

**Part VI: In Which Chris Decides**

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Hondo is an asshole, but he's never an asshole without reason, and this time, I knew – he damned well had a fucking good reason. 

And the bastard is smart. Too fucking smart. 

"Get them the hell of here," he clipped, hand on Sanchez' shoulder as he pushed past the cops, the coroners, the reporters. She stayed right by his side, grimacing, too lost in the fact that she had been shot twice in four months to really care that her partners were being ordered away from her. 

Sitting down in the open compartment of the paramedics, she looked like typical Sanchez, pissed as hell, mouth drawn into a scowl of pain as they ripped off her sleeve, inspected her bloody bicep. 

Burress and I had been exiled to the SWAT truck, guns off, hats hanging at our sides, like hockey players forced to sit in the penalty box, until Hondo was ready to deal with us. 

"It looks like she'll be okay," Burress whispered, rubbing into his hair, agitated, fingers tapping against the truck. 

I couldn't speak to him, too pissed at him, too pissed at myself, too pissed at Chris for letting this happen. What the fuck was wrong with me?! 

Boxer dropped his helmet into the truck, angry clanks that mimicked the glare in his stare. "What the fuck was that?!" he said, before turning and heading to the paramedic truck, not even bothering to listen to an explanation. 

Deke beside her, was quiet and calm, a smile on his face as he said something and poked in her shoulder, causing a short burst of laughter that warmed me slightly. She was going to be okay, even though the paramedic snapped at Deke and she snapped right back, before Hondo ordered them to shut up in a bark so loud that even we heard it. 

With a glance, Deke excused himself, heading in our direction. 

I glanced up, beseeching and speechless, too lost in my anger to do anything but plead with my eyes. 

Maybe Deke knew, even then, because his smile faded slightly and he nodded, taking in an uneasy breath as he spoke to us both. "She's fine. It barely nicked her. Not even bad enough to be called a flesh wound, least not in my book." 

Burress broke out into a smile, but the words, even as my heart stuttered and burst with relief, did nothing to help me. "She could have died, though." 

"Nah, she's too stubborn for that." Planting his hand on my shoulder roughly, Deke squeezed for a brief second, before he left us, turning to pull himself into the truck. 

It was a brief reprieve, but it wouldn't be enough. Hondo's glare was glittered with ice as he came forward. 

"You take this truck back, and when I get there with Sanchez, the two of you better fucking be in my office." He spat on the ground, staring first at Burress, then at me, such anger and disappointment in his face, it was like looking at my father. "Get the hell out of my sight," he finally snapped, turning on his heel and heading back to Sanchez. 

So we did – Deke and Boxer electing to stay with us, playing cards on the floor, squatting beside the door, laughing and speaking in over-dramatized tones that didn't fool either of us. 

Burress looked pale, staring straight ahead, fingers clenching in the side of his chair, eyes bloodshot and refusing to blink. 

This was my team. I should have cared. But my anger coursed through me, the image of Sanchez on the floor, sticky with blood, slicked over with what-ifs that were so much worse. 

Burress should have known not to talk to me. But he did. Whispering to what he thought was his teammate, not his rival. 

"She'll be fine. She's strong. It's not the first time she's been shot before." 

I don't know who he was reassuring, him or me. I only ignored him, stubborn in my self-pity and recrimination. 

"Listen, Jim – I don't want to start pointing fingers, but I feel this needs to be said-" 

"Don't," I snapped, suddenly alert, slit eyes turning to catch his in a fevered glare. "Don't think you can talk to me about what I should or shouldn't be doing." 

He looked slightly taken aback, but the near-death of his almost girlfriend must have given him a spine, because he glared straight back and said, "I'm aware that I'm new on this team, Jim, but I can't ignore the fact that had it not been for your-" 

And that was it. I couldn't take it anymore. Not having this guy drilling in my head what I already knew, not now. 

"You want to talk about hesitation, pretty boy?" I snapped, pushing away at my chair until it toppled over, straight up as he rose with me, inches away from his face. "Let's talk about your little popsicle imitation that almost had BOTH our asses on the floor." 

"I never said I was perfect, Jim – but it was YOUR flash-bang grenade-" 

I shoved him hard, so that he nearly toppled over the file cabinet, sending papers scattering to the floor. He pushed back, just as hard, and suddenly Deke was in front of me, batting off my arms, and trying to keep his body in front of me, blocking me from my target. 

"Get the fuck out of my way," I hissed, twisting to get to the BoyScout. 

"It's not worth it, man," he said, tone strained, hooking into my arms, holding me in place as Boxer said the same damned thing to Burress, pinned on the other side of the office. 

The door burst open, and that was how Sanchez and Hondo found us, struggling and grunting, four SWAT men wrestling like we were in high school. 

"SETTLE THE FUCK DOWN." It took only the booming command of Hondo to drop my hands, breathing hard and shoving away the strong grip of Deke. Hondo's glare was sharp, angry, like a bull ready to charge. I barely saw it. 

Sanchez, stepping in behind him, wore a look that seemed a combination of annoyance and bewilderment, left arm bandaged with white gauze. Her eyes processed the scene, between Burress and myself, and in her eyes I read again that glance I had seen that only three days ago. 

As if she were seeing a stranger. 

"SIT DOWN," Hondo snapped, grabbing Burress by the shoulder like a toy and slamming him into his chair, ready to do the same to me if I didn't follow suit. 

I did, glancing away from Sanchez with a 'fuck it all' attitude. 

Hondo shoved into his seat, glancing at all five of us before he snapped, "Deke, Boxer, wait outside." 

They did, turning and looking almost meek as they filed out the doorway. Sanchez looked ready to follow, until Hondo added, "Not you, Sanchez." 

Again, the bewildered look crossed over her face, but obediently, she stayed, keeping her place by the door. 

Hondo worked with silence, and for a full minute he sat at his desk, finger to his mouth, eyeing me and Burress. Sanchez was completely ignored. 

I knew the game, and I kept my mouth shut, waiting until Hondo figured the intimidation and silence had worked into my nerves long enough. 

"Anybody wanna tell me what the hell happened back there?" he said finally, loud and barking like a dog. 

I didn't answer, Sanchez didn't answer. It was Burress who spoke up first. 

"Sir, I-" 

"Shut up, Burress," he interrupted, eyes on me. "I want to hear it from Street." 

Both pairs of eyes swiveled in my direction, and I knew that Sanchez was watching too. I didn't care. I didn't care at all. My life was shit, and I had fucked it up, and at this point, I knew I could have been where Gamble was. Because this was bullshit. 

A part of me wanted to accept the blame, another part of me wouldn't allow it, because I would never have fallen this far from the man I was. 

"Fine," Hondo said, nodding once, rising from his desk. "Then I'll go ahead and tell you what happened. Someone fucked up. Someone fucked up really badly." 

"It was me, sir." Again, it was the damned martyr Burress breaking the silence, eyes on the floor, fingers tangled together in his anxiety. "I saw Sanchez on the floor and I froze-" 

"No." I didn't realize it was me speaking until Burress stopped talking, Hondo swiveling his hawk like glare onto me. Swallowing hard, I thought of Chris, of Gamble, of the accusations. I thought of everything I thought I was and everything I wasn't. And nothing seemed to matter anymore. "It was me," I said roughly. "I was distracted-" 

"DAMN RIGHT, you were distracted," Hondo barked. 

"Hondo-" Sanchez broke in, voice hard, free hand massaging her wounded arm, shaking her head. "You were there with me, you know that I went in because-" 

It took me a second to realize, she was ready to place the blame on herself. She went in trusting that I did my job – that the flash grenades were in place and because of that she had the time to move in from the stack up and not get shot. 

"It wasn't her fault, Hondo-" I said immediately. 

"Shut up," Hondo snapped, stepping around the desk, eyes on Sanchez. "You had nothing to do with this, Sanchez. Stay out of it." 

"Then why the hell am I in here?" she snapped back, losing patience, and with that, her slight deference for authority. 

"Shut up, and I'll get to it," he said, dismissing her immediately, coming back to us. "Now, I don't care what happened, or how it happened – or who fucked up. What I do know is that this morning, I had two men who I thought I trusted, and now I have an officer shot, and two children who can't be in the same room together without trying to kill each other." 

"We weren't trying-" 

"SHUT UP, BURRESS." Hands came down on our chairs, Hondo's breath coming down in moist heavy tufts on our heads. "Now someone, is going to take the blame for this. And it sure as hell won't be me, and it won't be Sanchez – she's the one who saved your asses in that place. So who's it going to be?" 

Anger and resentment, coupled with bitterness and a broken heart, is a dangerous combination in a military man. 

"What?" I snorted. "You're going to kick me out? Do it then." 

"Street." Sanchez's voice was urgent, annoyed. "Shut the fuck up." 

"Yeah, Street," Hondo agreed. "Shut the fuck up." He slapped my head, pushing off the chair. "See, here's my problem. Burress is the rookie here, so by all rights, I could kick him out and still have the majority of my team-" 

"Sir-" 

"BUT, committing the major fuckup of the century, I also have Street, here. Who as the leader of this team, should not have made the stupidest of mistakes, and so sorely tested my trust and patience, that I can't really think of wanting him in my sight for the next three months-" 

"Hondo-" 

"SHUT UP." Hondo sighed, silent for a moment, before he looked up and said, "Sanchez, you're off the team." 

The words took a minute to sink in, so out of left field that all three of us just sat there, dumbly, before my head swiveled back to a suddenly pale Sanchez, and all three of us were out of our seats. 

"Hondo-" 

"That's BULLSHIT!" 

"Sir, I don't think that's necessa-" 

"How many times do I have to say 'shut up' to you people before you guys SHUT THE HELL UP?!" he snarled, slamming his palm on the desk before he once again circled. 

"Hondo, you can't kick her off the team," I snapped. "She has nothing to do with it!" 

"I can do whatever I damned well please!" Slumping down in his seat, he glared between the two of us, and he answered, "Transferring her to another team might be the solution." 

"The solution to what?!" Chris broke in, coming forward, features frozen in rage. "What the hell did I do?!" 

"Nothing, Sanchez," Hondo said finally, looking up at her with what could almost be called regret. "Nothing but be yourself." 

"Look, you wanna punish someone, punish me," I snapped, stepping in front of Chris. "This was my screw-up. I'll take the heat." 

"If I kick you off the team, Fuller will never let you back on SWAT, Jim – and as much as I'd hate to admit it when you're acting like such a woman right now – I can't replace you. You're too good of an officer to lose completely." 

"Then take me out," Burress said. "I can handle it – I was doing fine in traffic-" 

"Boy, you're so full of gold medals, that if you get tarnished the captain will have my head," Hondo said, rolling his eyes with recrimination. "Now, we have a situation where it's obvious two of you can't get your heads out of your asses well enough to think straight, what the hell else am I supposed to do?" 

"I'm still not sure how the hell this is MY FAULT," Sanchez snapped. "What does throwing ME off the team do to fix this?!" 

Hondo's eyebrow arched lazily. "Sanchez, are you really that dense or you just really good at pretending?" 

Her mouth fell open, uncomprehending, and feeling my heart quicken it's beat in panic, I found myself pushing off my chair, standing to claim his attention. "So we find a way to work together. We work together, and we keep Sanchez." 

Hondo clucked his tongue, glancing between the two of us and then back to Sanchez, who stood directly between, completing the triangle. 

Yeah, fucking imagery was never so obvious. 

"You sure you can do that?" he clipped. "Listen to me, Street - you're the best man I got. Well, you WERE the best man I got, then you turned into a woman. Neither of you can afford to get petty over the fact that someone else has a partner that was yours. This isn't traffic, this is SWAT - we trust each other, and that includes trusting Burress." 

"I can do that!" I snapped. 

Chris' wondering stare burned into my face, flushing it red, and for that alone I couldn't look at her, palms on Hondo's desk, staring at him imploringly. 

Hondo considered it, studying my face, my expression. "You would work with Burress." 

"I would." 

"Make him your partner." 

"I would." 

He considered, and glanced at Burress. "And you, David. Would you work with Jim?" 

"I would do whatever was necessary to ensure this team's productivity, sir." 

Fucking kiss ass. 

"Great," I heard behind me, Sanchez' harsh rasp, "I now pronounce you man and wife." 

Hondo glanced up to Chris. "Sanchez?" 

"Don't even fucking look at me, Hondo," she snapped. "I have no idea what the hell is going on." 

He almost smiled at that, before he stretched, as if he had just received a wonderful massage, and rose out of his chair. "Fine. Then Sanchez, you're still on the team." 

My shoulders slumped, the breath gone out of me as I let my hands fall, glancing away from the table. "Fine." 

"Though that still leaves the question of Sanchez' partner." 

Shit. "Look, Hondo, we just said-" 

"I just asked if you were willing," he snapped. "My first concern is this team, and I can't deny the fact that you and Chris work well together. But frankly, you've pissed me off so much today, I don't feel like being that charitable. And Burress here, is showing potential." 

One glance at Sanchez revealed nothing. Her brow was furrowed, her mouth set in a firm, deep line. 

This whole thing was taking me through such an emotion of whirlwinds that I had no energy for this anymore. I fell in my chair, face downcast, breath coming out of me with a heavy sigh. 

"Sanchez?" 

My poor girl was so confused she didn't even bother replying. It hadn't been the best day for Chris, I'm sure. Getting shot, then getting kicked off the team because she was a girl, then getting put back ON the team because she was a guy... 

And even I couldn't explain what Hondo wanted from her. 

Finally, he must have taken pity on all of us, because he chirped, "Fine, Sanchez decides." 

"ME?!" she sputtered. "Why me?!" 

Burress and I both turned, and taken with the stares of her partner and her would-be boyfriend, she only seemed more agitated, glaring back at Hondo, who shrugged. 

"Street, Burress – out. I need to talk to Sanchez." 

In that moment, brown eyes locked onto my own, mouth twisted in a confused frown spoke the truth. 

She had no idea. 

The fact that she was so dense suddenly just seemed to irritate me all the more, and I didn't bother acknowledging her unasked question, instead pushing past Burress, dismissing his whispered good-bye to her, and heading out the door, nearly knocking over Deke and Boxer, who were piled up on each other in hopes of hearing what had been going on. 

It seems like I didn't stop running until I got to my apartment, throwing open my door and grabbing the big leash hanging on the wall. 

I haven't run like I did that day in months. My heart pounding, legs searing with agony, stomach twisting with the scent of the salty sea, lungs gasping for air. I pounded in the surf, Rox bounding alongside of me, and I kept going, even as the waves splashed my legs, I began to shiver with cold. 

It wasn't enough. By the time I got back to my apartment, I was still shivering, still trembling with emotion, and suddenly I strapped on gloves and began to pound on my bag, hard and fast, never noticing my knuckles were turning red until I collapsed against the wooden porch, beaded sweat running down my body. 

I couldn't think of Chris. I wouldn't let myself think of her. Not what this decision meant, or why Hondo had chosen her to make it. 

I was Jim Street, and I had never let myself get this far gone – not for anything. Nothing but the job. 

With a hiss, I pulled the tape from my knuckles, studying the broken flesh, spattered blood on my hand as I flexed it, studying the cracks in the skin. 

I didn't know I was waiting for the phone to ring until it did. The ring had never seemed more ominous, and even Rox, lifting his head from the floor, quirked an ear, staring at it as if Judgement Day itself had come. 

With a hard push, I lifted myself from the floor, heading toward the ringing phone, closing a palm around it. 

Another heavy sigh, and even though I couldn't say I was ready, it was the closest I would get to it. 

I lifted the phone out of it's cradle, held it to my ear with a grunted hello. 

"She chose you," came Hondo's clipped voice. "Get your ass in here tomorrow, and if you're not the model soldier, I'll have your ass." 

With that, the line clicked, and I heard an unmistakable dial tone. 

**End chapter VI**

_Coming soon Part VII – In Which Chris Is a Girl_   



	7. Part VII: In Which Chris is a Girl

Last chapter. ;-)****

**Part VII: In Which Chris is a Girl**

Military men never read more into the situation than what is there. It's dangerous to assume, because even though things are sometimes not what they appear to be, to think that things are there when they aren't can tend to screw you up. 

Even so, it was a testament to how far gone I was, when I couldn't sleep. "She chose you." Words that haunted me, washed over my soul, because Chris chose me over Burress, and that had to mean something. It had to mean something if my partner wanted me instead of him. 

I woke up early the next morning, headed to the range, changing into workout gear to try and take on the course, clear my head a little with exhaustion. 

I didn't expect to see a woman in a tanktop and army boots, slamming into a punching bag, left arm reddening with every thud. 

"Chris," I said immediately, dropping my duffel bag and walking toward her. "What the hell are you doing?!" 

With an 'oomph' and another slam into the bag, she faltered, just for a minute, wiping sweaty bangs away from her forehead to take in my form, catching my gaze before turning back to the bag, slamming a roundhouse straight into it. 

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing?" she replied, throwing a punch and then a reverse, before backing away and executing a perfect sidekick that sent the bag swinging. 

I watched her for a moment, the way the redness was seeping from the gauze, and again I stepped forward. "Chris, look at your arm." 

She shrugged me away. "I'm fine. It's just a scratch." 

"You're not fine. You just got shot!" 

She stopped, catching the bag with her gloves, eyes lingering on the band-aids on my knuckles, before she said pointedly, "Yeah, you're one to fucking talk." 

I had nothing to say to that, glancing at my palms before smoothing them on my shorts, swallowing hard and starting trepidly, "Look, can we talk?" 

"Why?" she said between punches, "It's not like you tell me shit when we do. No reason to break tradition and keep me out of the fucking loop-" 

"Chris, stop punching the bag for a second, and let me-" 

"No, Jim. I chose you, and that's all you fucking care about right?" A powerful reverse kick sent the bag spinning before she caught it with an ax kick. "You got your partner back. That's all that matters." 

This was not going well. Chris was pissed, and I had no idea why. 

With a sigh and a step forward, I grabbed her arms, trying desperately to pull her back from the bag. "Just listen to me for a min-" 

And then I was blinded by a furious force that crashed into me right on the bridge of my nose. I was unprepared for it, and stumbling back, I landed on my ass, falling back and clutching my throbbing nose, feeling the blood seep from it as Chris stood over me, eyes blazing and chest heaving. 

Shit. 

One hand on the wooden floor, I was about to push myself back up when she clipped, "Stay down, or I swear to God I'll beat your ass, Jim." 

There was enough conviction in those words, that I had no choice but to believe her. Not to mention, Chris hits HARD, and my brain was exploding with pain, splinters of it screeching from my nose, swelling with blood. 

"I chose you for two reasons," she began heavily. "One, because you and I are great fucking partners, Jim. I've never had a partner like you, and I never will again. You and I connect out here. We know each other, and when we're on the job, there's nothing like the two of us together." She looked like an Amazon, hair falling around her shoulders, eyes blazing with fury, but her words did something to me, made me stare in wonder, until she took it upon herself to break it all down again. "The second reason, was because I don't think it's a good fucking idea to date my partner." 

"You're still dating Burress." The words rushed out before I could stop them, and it only incensed her further, fingers tangling into her hair as she stepped back, as if she didn't trust herself not to hit me again. 

"Yeah, I'm still dating David and you know what? I missed the part where that was any of your fucking business. You and I are great together, Jim, but as partners, and if it ever became more than that? Then no one fucking told me! So if you wanna tell me when this became a fucking relationship that I didn't know about – now is a good time, Jim! Because the word out in the entire SWAT division is that I'm in the middle of a love triangle that's screwing up my team – AND I'M THE LAST TO KNOW!" 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Trying to get myself together when I was sprawled out on the floor, holding a bloody nose and squeaking , I only managed, "Look, Chris-" 

"No. No. I'm not ready for you to talk. Because if it's true, if that's the reason I got shot – then I'm gonna fucking kill you. I never gave you shit about Mandy, or Tania, or Mary, or any of the little bimbos that paraded past your bed, because I thought it was none of my business. I made a point not to care, Jim – because you never did. So if what you're going to tell me, is that you're in love with me, or some shit, I don't want to hear it. You never seemed to think it was important enough to tell me before, no reason to do it now." 

I didn't have to tell her. She could see it in my face, my dumbstruck expression that looked at her as if she had handed me the world just to take it back, and it was in that stare, that I think she finally under stood, just a little. 

Her breath came out in a soft gasp, and she tore her gaze away, leaning on the bag and closing her eyes. 

"We're partners, Jim. From here on out, that's all we are. What the hell happens in my love life stays out of the uniform, and when I'm on it, you and I are together. But you have zero say with what happens with Burress, and the minute I see you fucking up again with me just because of something idiotic like this – I'm dumping you as a partner. You got it?" 

What else could you say to that? When your nose is bleeding and the girl of your dreams is so mad she can kick your ass? 

"Yeah, I got it." 

"Good," she said, suddenly broken, eyes open and glittering at me. She stepped back to me, leaning down and pulling my palm from my face, inspecting the damage. "Come on," she said after a minute, "Let's get you to the nurse. I think I might have broken it." 

She pulled me up swiftly, curled an arm around my waist, and kept her promise. She had chosen me as a partner. While we were on this range, she was mine. 

It was the after that had left my heart reeling. 

Burress must have gotten his ass talked to too, because although he didn't' sport a bruised nose that made Deke's mouth drop open and Boxer grin, he still kept his mouth shut and his mind on the job. 

We were a team, but there wasn't any laughing, any jokes, Chris still probably dealing with what she had heard, me trying to figure out who had told her. Hondo made some bullshit speech about us being a team, but I didn't care. 

At lunch I called Mandy, asked her to meet me at the bar, ignoring the glance away from Chris, the look that Boxer and Deke shared. 

I didn't know what I was doing, or what I was gonna say when I got there, but I did it anyway. 

Showed up at the bar, and saw a perfectly nice girl smiling and waving in my direction, sipping a beer and motioning for me to come over. She fawned over my nose, asking me what happened, and it was then, feeling the soreness, looking in her eyes, not Chris' I knew what I had do to. 

"Hey," I said, offering my cheek instead of my lips. "Listen, I need to break this off." 

She didn't understand. It hard for her to hear, that for the first time in my life I was terrified of losing something, that I wasn't sure if this was love, but it was someone I could picture being with for the rest of my life, and couldn't stop thinking about, and if I didn't make it right, nothing would be okay with me every again. 

She left me at that bar, angry and without a good-bye, just a whisper that I didn't know what I'd lost. I didn't tell her that I couldn't care less. I let her go and I sat on that barstool, looking at an empty beer bottle, wondering where the hell to go from there. 

A too hard slam on my shoulders made me suddenly aware of Deke, as he heaved his muscular build into the space she vacated. 

"Damn, Street," Boxer said, coming up the other side, and motioning for a drink from the bartender. "Forget everything I said about my sister – you're a dick. Don't ever come near her." 

I smiled, a bitter grin that made me laugh in spite of myself, peeling off the label of my beer bottle. 

"Wanna know who told her?" Deke said suddenly. "Hondo. Soon as you and Burress left, he started screaming at her about dicking around with her partners." 

I blinked, eyes widened. 

"Yeah," Boxer agreed. "Next thing we knew, she's shouting that she has no idea what the hell he's talking about and they're were shouting for like, fifteen minutes in there. It got ugly." 

"And we didn't even get to hear all of it," Deke added. "But I tell you what we did hear. Soon as Hondo got her to shut up for a second, soon as he told her point blank to made a decision, without hesitating for a moment, girl chose you." 

"Yeah," I mumbled. "No wonder she was pissed." 

"Thing is, Street," Boxer said, thanking the bartender and curling his Budweiser to him. "You gotta understand something about women. Now I'm miserable, but I'm married, and I know – girls? Kinda don't like to be called 'guys' all the time." 

"Yeah," Deke agreed. "Cause they may be tomboy as shit – but they're girls. In the uniform, that's one thing, but out of the uniform? Different story." 

"Look," I began thickly. "We're partners, all right? I can't think of her like that because we're partners. And we're damned good partners. I don't want to fuck it up." 

"You kind of already did, dog," Deke said, a wry grin on his face. "How's that nose, by the way?" 

"Fuck you," I responded, shaking my head. 

"Look, Deke and I have been watching this like a damned movie," Boxer added. 

"Yeah, don't think I haven't noticed, asshole," I snapped. 

"Right. Anyway," he began again, unconcerned with my temper. "It's the reason you make such good partners that It'll work. And yeah, partners can't get married, but... we'll cross that bridge when you come it." 

"Woah, woah-" I looked up, vestiges of my bachelor life swinging back, "Marriage? I haven't even slept with her yet! Fuck, I haven't even kissed her yet!" 

"Hey, hey!" Deke laughed, slamming down on my shoulder again and making me wince. "No one's saying you gotta buy a ring or shit, but hell boy – if you're serious about Chris, you better be prepared to go all the way, cause you know that Boy Scout's already thinking that way." 

Boxer agreed, murmuring into his beer about asshole boy scouts, and just shook my head, ordering another beer for my buddies, mind swimming with ideas, problems, the unmistakable urge to panic. 

Falling hard for Chris was a ready-made husband, a guy who treated her like a queen and would want to take care of her for the rest of her life. The last thing she needed to fuck that up was her asshole partner who had never even told her he wanted to sleep with her, maybe stick with her a while, because they had fun. 

I was a screw-up. I lived my life like I could die any minute and my life was SWAT. 

But Chris was SWAT too, and although her life was her kid, and I had met the kid and liked the kid, she wasn't looking for a dad. 

She was looking for a partner. 

It was because of that that I slammed my car door shut on the curb next to her house, in my hands a huge ass bouquet of flowers, I had sweaty palms, a furiously beating heart, and a conviction in my soul. 

When she opened the door, found me standing there in the moonlight, holding my flowers like a fifteen year old boy, an uncertain smile on my face, she obviously didn't know what to think. 

"Street?" she asked, coming forward and closing the screen door behind her. "What the hell are you doing here?" 

With a heady breath in, I said matter-of-factly. "I'm here to ask you out." 

She blinked, mouth opening before looking back at the house uncertainly. "Jim-" 

"I'm not here as your partner, okay? I'm just a guy. A guy who broke up with Mandy and really wants to try to be with you. Just you. A girl." 

Her lips quirked, eyes narrowing, as I held out the flowers, seeing a flash or something in her eyes, just enough to make me almost step forward. 

I knew it then, I knew what I was risking my heart for, because I was in love. I was in love with my partner, and it was fucked up and I had done it all wrong, but I could fix it. I knew I could. It was Chris. 

"Jim..." The screen door opened, and all my fleeting hopes suddenly held tight in my throat, as David Burress stepped out onto the porch, smile fading as he took in the flowers and Chris and me. "What are you doing here?" 

He put a possessive hand on Chris, and he knew what he was doing. I knew what he was doing, and Chris knew, standing between, staring at me and glancing back at David. 

"I'm asking Chris out," I said finally, looking back at Chris, trying to make believe he wasn't there, he didn't exist here, that Chris was mine, and I had every right to ask her this. 

"Look, Jim-" 

"Shut up," Chris suddenly barked, face flushed, and eyes narrowed. "Jim... go home, okay? I'll talk to you later." 

And that was it. Her rejection wasn't even outright, but implied, and I could not have been more stupid, standing there with my stupid ass flowers, my downcast face. 

"Jim!" Eliza stepped out then, eyes lighting up and smile only for me as she bounded down the porch and grinned at me, hugging me around the middle. 

"Hey munchkin," I answered, tweaking her noise, voice gravely and fake. "Just came by to say hi." I glanced at Chris, who stood there with this unreadable expression on her face, to David, who still held her hand on his shoulder. "I'm gonna take off, though." 

"Who are those for?" she asked, peering at my flowers suspiciously. 

I smiled, kneeling down and placing them in her little hands. "They're yours." 

With a kiss on her forehead, and another glance to her mom, I walked back to my car, slipping inside and turning the key. 

I wanted to get out, to beat the crap out of Chris' choice, because it wasn't' right – she should have been with me. 

But her kid smiled and waved, and I couldn't do much but wave back, slammng my foot down on the gas and speeding away from her house and her family. 

I went back to a dark, empty apartment, fed my dog, stuck a cold piece of pizza in the microwave and then didn't eat it. The phone rang, but I didn't want to hear it. I took it off the hook. 

I thought of Chris and David and the ready made family, me alone with me and my dog, and I wondered how easily I could have given it up, to be a part of that world. 

It was two am when the door cracked with a furious knock. 

I almost ignored it, but Rox yelped and the knocks kept coming, until I stumbled off my couch and headed toward the door, kicking away a messy take out box and fumbling for the locks. 

When it opened, I discovered a sleepy little girl yawning, blanket wrapped around her body, Behind her, hands on her shoulders, was Chris, looking pissed and worried. 

"You didn't answer your phone," she said evenly. 

I stood there dumbly, mind reeling, and all I could manage was, "Yeah, I wasn't much in the mood for talking." 

"Get in the mood," she bit back, pushing past me with Eliza, gathering her into her arms and settling her on the bed. I blinked, rubbing at my scalp and taking in the scene, as Chris wrapped her in my blankets, petted Rox and commanded him to join Eliza on the bed. "We're going for a walk," she said in a low tone. 

And that was how I ended up on the beach on an after midnight stroll with my partner, watching the waves crash into the sand, moonlight casting shadows on her face. 

"You know, you're kind of a schmuck," she said, breaking into the conversation as she wrapped around her torso, eyes on something in the distance. 

"Yeah," I answered, nodding once. "A little bit, yeah." 

"I could kick your ass, right now." 

"Yeah," I said, tone hollow. "I know that, too." 

She nodded, pausing, steps faltering in the sand as she turned to face me, face passive, unreadable. "So what do we do?" 

I blinked, completely unsure. "About what?" 

"Street, are you always this dense or just really good at pretending?" 

I wanted to tell her I knew what the hell she was talking about, but as my mouth opened to retort, I couldn't. I had no idea what she was talking about. The last thing I knew, she had told me to leave because she was there with- 

She heaved in a sigh, closing her eyes to breathe in the scent of the sea air. "I broke up with David. Took me two hours to sit and try to explain the twistedness of all of this." 

I was at a loss. Suddenly, her words began to make something close to sense, and a hard swallow prevented me from saying much at all, as she looked at me and continued walking, leaving me to follow. 

"We're great partners, Street." 

"Yeah," I agreed. 

"I mean, we are really good. So fucking good together, and I love that we click, you know? With you it's like, I don't even have to think you know? I don't even to try, cause you know. So now I don't know what the hell to do. Because I can't be with David without thinking about you. About what I want when we're not on the job, and it's not David." 

"It's me," I breathed, small, disbelieving smile crossing my face as I stumbled in the sand, because she was here, and with me, and she wanted ME. 

She looked pissed. "Yeah," she said frankly. "It's always been you, Street. You asshole." 

And I grinned like an idiot, too overwhelmed to ravish her like I wanted to, because she still looked pretty pissed. 

"But I was okay with what we were, even if fucking Mandy had you when we weren't together, I knew it was me that really had you, you know? And it wasn't enough anymore, and we were partners and we CAN'T be more, and fucking David was there being NICE and different..." she kicked at the sand, finding a rock and watching it fall into the waves. "And now I don't know what the hell to do. Because you want me, too. And we're partners, and this can't happen, but I'm still here at two in the morning, dragging my poor kid out of bed when she's got a six am bus ride to school because I'm thinking about you." 

She loved me. The giddiness infesting my soul made me look like an idiot, but I didn't care. 

"What the hell do we do?" she asked, seriously, looking at me for guidance, anything for her to go on. 

I looked at her, staring into the eyes of my partner and the girl of my dreams, and we were suddenly well and truly fucked. "I don't know," I responded. And my mouth widened into a grin, and suddenly I was laughing in such a way, that she couldn't keep frowning – and she was laughing too. 

We stood there, in the sand, laughing out asses off because there was nothing we could do, and we were partners, and we couldn't do SHIT about what was between us, and suddenly it was just really, really funny. 

We had fun together. I always knew that. 

"Well, I don't know about the partners, thing," I said, after the laughter had died down and we kept walking. "But I do know how to keep you if I ever did get you." 

"Oh yeah?" she asked, distracted by waves and moonlight. 

"Yeah," I said, leaning in with a saucy grin. "Great sex." 

It took a moment for her to get it, to remember one drunken night and a proclamation, but suddenly I was smacked on my shoulder, and the laughter started all over again. 

That was our night. Laughing and talking, two partners giddy and having fun together, on a non-sex, non-kissing, non touching date, just like we had before, because it was all we could have. 

The next morning, we sent her kid to school, nursing coffee and driving in together, and when we walked into the facility, and Burress saw us together, I knew that he knew. 

It was okay to like him again, okay when Chris gave him a smile and an affectionate smack on the head, because the look she gave me was different and heavier and nothing like I had ever had before. 

He caught me in the coffee room, arm extended, saying some shit about how the best man had won, and how he hoped we could learn to be friends. 

David Burress was a good guy, I could see why Chris had given him a chance. So I shook his hand back, squeezing tightly and responding, "We're on the same team, David. We're already friends." 

He grinned, plastic for a while, before it softened, and he held my hand tighter, nodding. "All right, then as Chris' temporary partner, I say, if you make her any more miserable than she is, I'll beat you down. Hard." 

I knew why he had grinned that day. Because I smiled at him right now, there was no way in hell I would ever hurt Chris if I could help it, and he knew it. I decided I liked him. 

I knew who else would like him. 

"Listen, we're all getting together at Boxer's tonight. His wife has this barbeque that really kicks ass. Show up. There's someone I want you to meet." 

Chris had a baby-sitter that night, and I picked my partner up in my car, and we showed up at the barbeque together, hanging with our team, laughing and swearing, and doing things that SWAT people do. 

She had her beer, and I had mine, and when Lara smiled in our direction, it was Burress that got bugged and slapped, until Chris got up and grabbed his hand and pulled him over to my beautiful ex-girlfriend, introducing them and slapping Burress on the back. 

She came back to me, setting beside me in the squeaky metal aluminum chair, elbow on my shoulder and Boxer, Deke, Sanchez and I watched Burress be himself; polite, honest, sweet. 

Hondo was there for a while, too SWAT to not make a crack about dating musical chairs, and enough of an asshole to bark and Sanchez to watch her hands. But he said it with a smile, and he looked at me with a shake of his head, because he knew it was going to happen anyway. 

Later that night, after Chris made sure Burress got Lara's number, and I made sure Boxer wasn't going to kill me, everyone said their good-bys, and me and Chris walked down the driveway, never touching, talking and being partners until we reached our appropriate doors. 

I looked up, met her glance, and there was Chris, beautiful and smiling, and a girl, THE girl. 

"So, how long do you have the baby sitter for?" 

She processed the statement, the look in my eyes, and it hung in the air, before she laughed, opening my car door and sliding inside. 

I took my dog and locked him out on the porch, closing the glass door to turn and find Chris Sanchez standing in my bachelor pad, looking at the empty beer bottles and pizza boxes and shit on the floor. 

"It's a mess," I said, suddenly embarrassed, coming forward to stand beside her, seeing it like she might. 

She smiled, arching her eyebrow in that way, before she shrugged. "Nah," she answered. "It's you." 

There we were, partners, who stood staring into each other's eyes, before her eyes closed, and I kept mine open, watching as her lips met mine, clinging for a soft kiss, soft and lush. Her eyelashes slid against my cheeks, her palms smoothed over my chest, and with a breathless sigh, her mouth opened under mine, because she was my partner, and she didn't have to think with me, she knew what to do. 

We had fun together. We laughed as we tripped over boxes, and collapsed too hard on the bed, when I bit her a little too hard and when my zipper got stuck. 

And I kissed her, over and over, dipping my tongue in her mouth for a deep taste, finally slipped palms over her breasts, rubbing thumbs over nipples, learning her in this way – how she gasped, how she moved, how she liked to make love. 

I loved that she liked to be on top, that she threw her head back when I touched her, that she was so wet when I tasted her between her dark curls. I loved that she liked to play, that she treated going down on me like a chance to explore, testing me out, glancing up at me with glittering eyes, and that beautiful smile that had gotten me into all of this in the first place. 

She never shouted, no matter how many times I made her come. She only gasped and moaned, held me tighter, and bit my neck, my shoulder, sweaty and beautiful. 

And later, hours later, when our bodies gave up, and we needed a break, I loved that she ran fingers through my hair, tickling my scalp as I lay, my head on her belly, palm tracing patterns around her belly button, feeling her breath with every inhalation. 

We lay across tangled sheets, Chris above me, watching me as I drew on her skin, amused at me, as usual. 

"You know," she began, smoothing her fingers over my back, trailing my spine. "We have really screwed up, here." 

I didn't move, too comfortable in my post orgasm bliss to process what she was saying. She was right. We were partners. We were partners who were going to keep on having great sex despite that, and it was really a problem. 

"Yeah," I mumbled against her skin. "We really did make a mess of all of this here." 

"Hmm... We're fucked." 

That was enough for me to lift my head, laughing as I shifted my posture, looking over her naked breasts to her face. "Yeah... we are." 

"Pervert." 

We laughed, because we have fun together. That's half of what makes us great. 

"It's half your fault," I answered. "If you weren't as dense as a guy, you would have seen it coming and stopped it." 

"Fuck you, Street," she responded. "This shit is all your fault." 

"Really?" 

"We're partners and we're together, and it's going to screw us up on the job. You know that. Partners can't work and sleep together." 

"We did just fine." 

"Shut up, Street – you know what I mean." 

I did. And I still maintain that this was some of Chris' fault, because if she was a girl she could have stopped this – girls think more than we do. But looking back, I don't really care about it. Yeah, it's a mess, I'm a mess, but I've never been this happy. 

I don't mind being this fucking messed up for the rest of my life. 

I shifted, pulling up with my arms, until I covered her, feeling her legs part to let me rest between them, gently pressing kisses on each breast. She watched with hooded eyes, amused because I amuse her, and I whispered, "Trinity and Neo were great partners. And they fucked like bunnies." 

She smiled, kissed me hard, shifting until I was on my back, and she was staring down at me, eyes glittering with amusement. "You do realize that they both died, right?" 

I blinked. "Oh... I never watched the last one." 

"Good," she answered. "Because it sucked." 

And we kissed again, partners in a whole lot of trouble, because the trouble with partners is, you can't really do what we just did. 

Are still doing. 

But we're great together. We'll figure it out – because if we weren't through that must shit just to get together – chances are everything else is a piece of cake. 

Right? Shit. I don't care. 

**FIN**

  



End file.
